


The Color of The Sun

by Nerves



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bittersweet, Dark Fantasy, Dreamscapes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Fairy Tale Elements, Gaslighting, Horror, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Moral Ambiguity, Psychological Horror, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Villain Strickler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-26 01:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14391351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerves/pseuds/Nerves
Summary: Barbara is a woman caught outside of time and space in an idyllic, soft world, knowing no other human than the man Walter. Her existence is peaceful and dreamlike - although lonely. All of that changes when another person enters her world: the woman made of darkness and clothed with the sun. The love that finds them will bring out the darkest that their world has to offer so that they may find the light.





	1. The Golden Berries and The Fairybird King's Obelisk

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and thank you for clicking on this story! The beginning is going to seem a little bit strange, but I promise that in the first chapter we will get into the actual story, and hopefully things will begin to make more sense after that. This story is one that I have been formulating for a very long time, and I'm excited to see where it goes. Thank you for tuning in, and I hope that you enjoy it!

Once upon a time, in a place out of step from the rest of the world, there was a small cottage set next to a forest thick with trees. In that cottage there lived A Girl and a man known as The Father (although in some variations he is known as The Husband,) and there they carved out a simple life - him leaving every morning to complete the day’s work to provide food for them, and her to do her chores and play in the woods. In this lush, verdant land without danger, life was rather simple.

One bright morning, A Girl took her basket and went into the woods to collect berries to eat after supper that night. That forest is one that is quite special, with luminescent fungi glowing at the woody titans’ feet while fairybirds flit from branch to branch in search of nourishment. As the wind hums through those woods, it picks up a tune from the leaves, the knocking of branches hitting a perfect _One two-three One two-three One two-three_ as it does. As A Girl walked through the trees, careful not to trample the mushrooms underfoot, she found herself dancing along to the rhythm, her footsteps light and sweet. The trees seemed to sway with her as she went, although this was not particularly unusual.

Soon, A Girl came upon a clearing with a great obelisk at the center of it. She felt a moment of terror as she looked upon its imposing shape, remembering how The Father had warned her that the berries that grow at its base are a trap laid by the king of the fairybirds. As A Girl looked upon the berries, however, she found herself taken with their brilliant yellow color, and decided that there could be no harm in taking just a few of them. Approaching the obelisk, the waltz of the trees grew fainter, and she could hear the light chuckling and twittering of the fairybirds overhead. With all the confidence that she could muster, A Girl plucked seven berries from the bush and held them in her hands. As soon as the seventh touched her hands, all fell silent for a long time before the trees began their waltz once more.

Satisfied that nothing bad had happened, she hurried home, the bright berries caged loosely in her hands. As A Girl moved through the forest, however, she found that she was terribly hungry, and the berries were so very very pretty. Unable to resist, she gobbled up all of them but one, and they were so bright and sweet, and their golden juice glimmered so brightly on her lips. Happy and fed, she found her way out of the woods and back to the cottage.

But once she had passed by the last of the mushrooms growing on the forest floor, she began to feel a terribly painful prickling on her hands and in her mouth, and the world around her seemed to grow darker. Alas! The berries had turned to thistle, and cut her hands and lips so very bloody and tender. Frightened and hurting, she ran to the cottage, discarding her basket and slamming the door shut behind her. The Father, having already returned from his work, rose with alarm upon seeing the fear in her eyes and the blood dripping from her lips and her fingers.

“Oh dearest, what have you done?” he cried as the door began rattling, a great shadow overtaking their home. “Didst you steal the berries from The Fairybird King, despite my warnings?”

“I did, I did!” she wept, holding up her bleeding, prickling fingers. “They shone so brightly in the shadow of the obelisk, I had to have them!”

“Oh dearest, what have you done?” he cried as the windows shook, a fog of breath spreading across their glassy panes. “Didst you eat the berries you stole from The Fairybird King, despite my warnings?”

“I did, I did!” she wept, showing him her bleeding mouth. “They were so warm and beautiful, and so sweet, I had to have them!”

“Oh dearest, what have you done?” he cried as the force outside crashed against the very walls, unsettling dust from where it had been resting on the beams. “Didst you lead The Fairybird King here, despite my warnings?”

“I did, I did!” she wept, pointing to the trail of blood that led through the door. “He followed close behind me, though I was only hungry!”

“Come closer dearest, I will kiss away the golden juice and the thistle drawn blood from your hands so that The Fairybird King will know naught of your crime.” After saying this, he took her hands in his, and he kissed away the golden juice and the thistle drawn blood from her fingers until they were clean.

“Come closer dearest, I will kiss away the golden juice and the thistle drawn blood from your mouth so that The Fairybird King will know naught of your crime.” After saying this, as with her hands, he took her face into his hands and he kissed away the golden juice and the thistle drawn blood from her mouth until it was clean.

“Come closer dearest, and hide here under my arm so that The Fairybird King will see naught of where you have gone.” After saying this, A Girl curled under The Father’s arm, and so she was hidden out of sight.

Not a moment later, the door burst open, and the windows shattered, and the dust from the walls and the beams flew in a violent slurry through the air. In stepped The Fairybird King, wings outstretched and his eyes glowing bright, his vulture’s maw open in a sinister grin.

“Where is the thief?” boomed The Fairybird King.

“The thief is gone!” replied The Father.

“Alas! Didst it have golden bleeding hands from the berries that grow at the foot of my obelisk?” The Fairybird King asked, looking at The Father’s hands and finding them empty.

“Aye, and surely it will pluck more if you do not catch it soon!” The Father replied.

“Alas! Didst it have a golden bleeding mouth from the berries that grow at the foot of my obelisk?” The Fairybird King asked, looking at The Father’s mouth and finding it clean.

“Aye, and surely it will devour more if you do not catch it soon!” The Father replied.

“Alas! Didst it lead me to your door, shrouding it in the darkness cast by my obelisk?” The Fairybird King asked, seeing the trail run out the door.

“Aye, and surely the same fate will follow others in your kingdom if you do not catch it soon!” The Father replied.

“Alas! Didst you see which direction it ran?” The Fairybird King asked, catching a glimpse of a bright glow underneath The Father’s arm.

“Aye, it went that way!” said The Father, and raised his arm to point towards the back door, which revealed to The Fairybird King A Girl with a single berry clutched in her hand. Upon discovering The Father’s treachery, The Fairybird King rage grew by a hundredfold and with a swipe of his taloned hand, he cut them both in twain.


	2. The Perfect Day (Ranunculus asiaticus i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go! Thanks again for checking this out, I'm very excited about this one. Please feel free to leave any questions or thoughts that you have!

It is with bleary eyes and a sore hand that Barbara awakes, her sheets and blankets a tangled mess, and the world awakens with her. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, the dust motes floating through the air become clearer, more crisp in their contrast against the shadows on the ceiling, and she smiles. The sun has only been in the sky for a short while, but already the room is too warm, the beams of sunlight raining down on her skin, making it hot to the touch underneath the thin sheen of sweat. Inhaling, and then exhaling, she rolls onto her side and pushes the window open, letting in the gentle breeze from outside. On it it carries the sweet smell of fresh growth, green and crisp, and the sound of the trees waltzing in the forest nearby.

It is the perfect morning. Every morning here is. 

Downstairs she can hear the clattering of pots and pans and utensils, and she knows that breakfast will be waiting for her by the time she comes downstairs. Stretching her arms up, she lets out a satisfied moan at the motion, and then dramatically lets them fall back down, her entire frame relaxing with the motion. A perfect morning. Lazily she looks down at her hand, seeing that just the smallest bit of blood has seeped through her bandage. Funny - she can’t quite recall what happened. She’ll have to ask Walter.

Suddenly full of energy, she leaps out of bed, her bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. It does not take long for her to pull on clean underwear, mismatched socks, some mauve trousers, and a baggy t-shirt, and with a swiftness that she has known now for a decade and change, she gives her long auburn hair a quick brush, ties it into a loose bun, and puts on her glasses before opening her bedroom door and trotting down the stairs. As soon as she reaches the lower level, the smell of sizzling ham and fresh baked bread hits her senses, and she smiles. Walking around the corner, she catches sight of the human known as Walter, the one with whom she has lived for as long as she can remember, a pan handle held prettily in his long fingers. “Good morning,” she greets cheerily as she approaches, pecking a kiss somewhere between the corner of his mouth and his cheek. He’s older than her, somewhere between two and four decades most likely, but there’s a bright kind of look in his eyes that speaks both of youth and wisdom.

“Good morning,” he responds with a smile, turning to watch her as she goes to the cupboard to retrieve two plates and two glasses (the only two of each in the house,) and then sets them on the kitchen table. “Did you sleep well, dearest?” She has to duck so as not to hit her head on a lantern as she makes her way to the drawer that contains their two forks, two knives, and four spoons (two tea and two table,) and in turn she sets out the cutlery next to their plates.

“Of course,” she says, fixing the knives so that they face the same way. “There were some fairybirds outside my window last night, chittering away as they do, but I was able to get to sleep in spite of it.” Walter lets out a _tsk_ , leaning down to look through the window above the stove where he stands cooking, as if looking for the aforementioned fairybirds.

“ _Pests._ I should get the traps out again, put the damned things out of their misery,” he mutters, and Barbara whirls around aghast.

“No! They’re just being themselves, it’s not _their_ fault if you find them annoying!” she says, crossing to the fridge to find the pitcher of orange-lemon juice. Walter rolls his eyes, but still he smiles.

“Always an advocate for the creatures, aren’t you?” He chuckles to himself, flipping the ham once before cracking four eggs into the skillet. “Very well, but if they continue to be a nuisance I’m going to make _you_ put the traps out.” Barbara sticks her tongue out at him, but he does not see it - or at least, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

The rest of their morning routine continues at a steady pace, with the eggs finishing cooking and Walter plating their breakfast while Barbara butters two thick pieces of freshly baked bread, the fatty spread melting right onto the very pores of it. It’s delicious, perfect, and as they eat and talk and laugh, Barbara feels warm and fulfilled.

Before long, it’s time for Walter to work, and for Barbara to go outside. As he collects their dishes, he kisses her sweetly somewhere and wishes her a good day. Pulling on her muddy boots and slinging her book bag over her shoulder (full of nature manuals and notebooks and purple gel pens,) she sets out into the forest just beyond their home. The sun is warm and bright, and everything around is so lush, so vibrant - it’s even more beautiful than the full color illustrations in her manuals which she looks at at night when the moon shines down on their home. The fairybirds flitter overhead, and she can hear the occasional goblin chattering in the underbrush as she moves past, careful to not step on the glowing mushrooms that are scattered next to the path.

It’s a sweet world, an idyllic world, and Barbara’s lungs feel cleaner as she breathes. She likes this time the best, the late morning when the sun is high, and the darkness is as far away as it can be. She does not ever tell Walter this, but she fears the dark.

Picking her way through the woods, she traverses a familiar path to her favorite glen, one which has a gentle slope and a small creek bisecting it. It’s not too long of a walk, maybe fifteen minute by foot, but today it takes her about twenty as she adopts a leisurely stroll. As she walks, soft swells of sunlight filtering in through the canopy above, she hears a pixie pick a fight with a fairybird overhead and watches as the two go careening to the ground before rolling into a patch of wildflowers. She giggles at the sight, shaking her head. The creatures that inhabit this forest are so silly at times, finding the pettiest things to argue about. It’s the perfect place for a young woman-girl and her Walter to reside.

When she arrives at the glen, she stops short, her breath taken for a moment as she looks upon the deer on the other bank. At the sound of her approach, it turns its head and looks at her with all seven eyes, its soft ears twitching. Its gaze is gentle, pure, and she smiles broadly at it while raising her hands in a friendly gesture. It watches her cautiously as she sits down, and then slowly reaches into her bag. Pulling out a sketchbook and a pencil, she never looks away from the deer, her movements gentle so as not to scare it.

It does not run away as she opens up the book and begins drawing it, now intermittently looking between it and its seven eyes and the page before her. After a while, it relaxes its stance and lowers its head to the ground before it, plucking blades of grass from the ground with its teeth. The patchy sunlight paints spots like a fawn onto its coat, the kind of fresh, bright charm that everything has here. Even she, Barbara, feels rejuvenated in a way one might find impossible. Each day is brand new, and each thing within it as if it has never been touched.

She gets about three and a half gesture drawings done before a particularly loud _waka!_ from a nearby bush startles the deer, and sets it running off in the other direction. She watches it go with disappointment, but also with gratitude for having been allowed to see such a scene in the first place.

A perfect place.

Lowering her sketchbook to the ground, she raises her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. Resting her cheek upon her patella, she gazes down at the creek half a dozen feet below, small fishes swimming against the stream. She smiles lazily, squinting just a little bit as the wind above moves aside a few leaves, allowing sunlight to hit her face.

How many days has she passed just like this? It’s far too many to count at this point, and so she makes no attempt to do so, but the thought nags at her for just a minute or two. This place makes her think of the stories that Walter sometimes told her before kissing her goodnight and blowing the sleep into her eyes. The stories that he told were fantastical and grand, stories of wizards and trolls and creatures from beyond - and always they starred her, the heroine armed with a great spear and enough pluck to write ten songs with. _And what happened next?_ she’d ask, and he’d laugh and turn the question right back around on her. _Well, you tell me! What happened next, plucky girl?_ He’d tickle her and hold her close and kiss her so sweetly, and she’d tell him and before the clock struck ten the villain would be defeated once and for all.

The warmth of his touch was the only nice thing about the dark - the softness of wanting to be wanted.

It was with that thought that Barbara found her eyes fluttering shut, closing out the greens and yellows and purples. _Silly girl,_ she thinks, but the voice is Walter’s. _This is no place where stories happen. This is a safe world. A pure world._ With his soothing voice ringing in her mind, she drifts off.

* * *

 _It’s dark. She doesn’t like the dark - never has. It’s cold here, and there’s the feeling of something wet on her back. In spite of the chill, an oppressive warmth threatens overhead, though she cannot see it._  

_Where am I? What’s going on? What is this?_

_Her legs feel wrong. Her legs feel wrong. Someone stuffed her head full of cotton and gagged her with something that tastes like cardamom. Her arms - she can’t move them and she can’t tack down a train of thought. Her legs feel wrong._

_She opens her eyes, and finds that it doesn’t help much. The room is dark, and the few shapes that she can make out are spinning._

_She closes her eyes. Who are you?  She opens them._

_There, in the corner - what is that?_

_She closes her eyes. Who are you? She opens them._

_It’s blinked its own eyes open, and they’re so so bright yellow, and it’s sickening._

_She closes her eyes. Who are you? She opens them._

_The eyes are higher now. It’s stood up, and it’s looking at her._

_She closes her eyes. Who are you? She opens them._

_The eyes are right above her. She can’t scream. She can’t do anything. In the darkness, she makes out the shape of its huge teeth. A long string of spit drips down from its vulture’s maw to land on her lips, the viscous liquid glinting in the glow of the eyes._

_She feels a weight in her hand, and she is unable to scream._

* * *

When Barbara awakes, the world is different - not in any immediate, noticeable way, but there’s something off about it. Her eyes are bleary once more as she opens them, taking in her surroundings. The sun is lower in the sky now, long past its zenith, and the world is washed in reds and oranges. Yawning, she sits up, stretching her arms out as she does so. Has she always been so… tired? It doesn’t matter. Soon she will head back, and she will be curled up with Walter on the couch, surrounded by floating tea lights with their multicolored flames flickering gently, and she’ll have a sugared pebble in her mouth which she’ll gently suck on whilst he reads to her.

Shaking the sleep from her head, Barbara reaches down and picks up her sketchbook, flipping through her deer drawings (each of its six eyes surprisingly vivid for such a quick sketch) for a moment before closing it and slipping it back into her bag, along with her pencil. Now all packed up, she hops up to her feet, and starts to turn - and then stops.

It’s not fear, or alarm, or even really surprise that stops her. Surely she should feel one if not all of those things, but as she looks across the glen at the woman that stands there, she feels nothing but curiosity. Now, Barbara has never _seen_ a woman before, of course, but in theory she knows what one should be like, and the clues seem to be all there - her bright green almond shaped eyes (wide with surprise) are framed by thick, beautiful dark lashes, her lips are a lovely flushed red, plump and sweet, and the bright yellow sundress that she wears frames her soft curves in such a lovely way. The woman has the greenest eyes and the blackest hair Barbara has ever seen, and all at once she is overwhelmed by the sight of the most beautiful thing that has ever graced this world.

The heat rises in Barbara’s cheeks as they stare at each other from across the glen, and unwittingly she finds herself clenching her fists from some unknown emotion that now gnaws at the inside of her chest. What _is_ this feeling? She would have to ask Walter about it later.

No - not Walter. He cannot be told about how she saw Nomura here, in this world.

The thought hits her like a bolt of lightning, and she jolts backwards, taking a step back. Is that her name? Nomura? Come now Barbara, you can’t just go around naming every thing that you come across - she probably already has a name of her own!

“What are you doing here?”

It takes Barbara a moment to figure out if she or the woman said it, before she settles on it being the woman, as she’s been simply staring dumbly at the mysterious beauty for the last thirty seconds. Shaking the fog from her mind, Barbara opens her mouth to speak. “Oh, I uh…” She hesitates, uncertain what to share, or how to share it. How do _people_ talk to each other? She’s only ever had to talk to her Walter before. “I wanted to see the forest. It’s a perfect day.” Was that a stupid thing to say? It’s bothering her tremendously that she can’t tell. The woman raises an eyebrow and gives a cursory glance around, as if appraising her claim. The woman seems barely older than Barbara, her features soft and gentle with youth.

“I suppose it is,” she says, although her tone has a hesitancy to it. There’s a kind of deepness in her voice, something that makes it richer and more beautiful, and it does something to Barbara that she cannot describe.

“Your name,” Barbara says suddenly, and then pauses. “Is it Nomura?” The woman raises her eyebrows in surprise, and then Barbara swears that she can see the smallest smirk on her lips.

“Indeed it is,” Nomura replies. “And your name is Barbara.”

Another jolt, as if she had forgotten her own name and it has been returned to her.

“How long have you been here?” Nomura asks, and the question puzzles her. How long _has_ she been here? Hadn’t she had that very thought earlier?

“I’m not quite sure,” Barbara replies. “I’ve always been here.” She looks taken aback by that response, and maybe just a bit upset.

“I see,” she says, and Barbara furrows her brow. There’s a long silence between them, full of questions and the faint buzzing of something in the distance that neither can name, before Nomura finally speaks again. “Do you live here alone?” She asks. There’s something ominous about the question, but Barbara pushes it aside - after all, there’s nothing evil in this world.

“No,” she says, quick to respond. How exciting - a chance to speak about Walter! _Her_ Walter! “I live here with my-” She stops abruptly, the word catching in her throat.

 _What_ is Walter?

The abrupt pause has Nomura looking at her curiously, something dark in her eyes as the girl-woman struggles to find the descriptor that best fits him. “He’s-” _father_. “He’s-” _husband._ Which _is_ it? Is it both? Is it neither? Where does he kiss her? Is it between the eyebrows or between the thighs? When he holds her in the night, do his arms slip around her in a chaste way, or does his hand slip lower and lower down until it slides beneath the sheets?

“Walter.” It’s Nomura who says the name, and hearing someone else speak it startles Barbara out of her stupor. _He’s my Walter._

“Yes,” she says, her voice distant. “Yes, I live here with Walter.” The other woman looks grave, and her beautiful reddened lips press into a hard line, and for the first time she looks away from Barbara. There’s pain in her eyes, though Barbara knows not why. “Are… are you alright?” She asks. Nomura looks back up, and those beautiful green eyes are so so piercing, and her face feels hot.

“Are _you_ alright?” Nomura asks, and Barbara is puzzled. Of course! Why wouldn’t she be alright? Having a Walter is perfectly normal, right?

“Yes, I’m fine!” She says, her voice oddly bright and cheerful as it escapes her lips. Is that really what she’s feeling? Why did it come out that way? Even Nomura seems puzzled by it.

She would be even more puzzled if she saw what Barbara saw.

“Barbara, this isn’t right, this place -” Barbara doesn’t hear her as she talks, as her attention is drawn to the figure just poking out from behind a tree far behind Nomura. She squints, trying to make out the shape a bit more clearly, but it is shrouded in a long, tall shadow - a shadow which now is reaching towards Nomura. Barbara stays silent and still, even as the woman speaks words that fall upon absolutely nothing at all.

The creature in the distance looks out from behind the tree, and she at once sees its face - angular, gaunt, and made small by the two huge eyes that glow brightly in it. Barbara pales.

_In stepped the creature, wings outstretched and its eyes glowing bright, its vulture’s maw open in a sinister grin._

Slowly - far more slowly than she would like - Barbara raises her hand, and points to the creature. There’s a sickening feeling in her stomach as she watches it raise its taloned hand, and extending a single claw, it points right back at her.

Nomura stops talking and whirls around, catching sight of the creature in the distance. She makes a sound somewhere between startled and angry, and then turns back to Barbara.

“Barbara, listen to me!” Two great wings extend from the creature’s back, and flap once. “Listen! You have to run, but please - meet me back here tomorrow! _Please!_ ” The wings flap twice. Barbara tears her gaze away from the creature to look at the woman. The forest is deadly silent.

_Its rage grew by a hundredfold and with a swipe of his taloned hand, it cut them both in twain._

Is this danger?

“Yes,” she agrees, and the words are barely out of her mouth before the creature takes flight - and Nomura is running away, out of sight, and then Barbara is running too in the opposite direction, her heart racing in her chest.

* * *

She makes it back before dark, something which she is endlessly thankful for. Her heart still feels like it’s in her stomach as she enters back into the house and toes off her boots. Walter greets her warmly, as he always does, and before long they’re eating their supper (wild thistle and rabbit stew with the morning’s leftover thick cut bread,) and Barbara is acting as if nothing had happened. She knows not why, but every fiber of her being is telling her that Walter must not know of Nomura.

When he makes her warm milk with honey and cardamom before bed, she sips it and thinks of Nomura’s pretty red lips.

A perfect day.


	3. The Valley (Ranunculus asiaticus II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thanks for tuning in! I apologize for the long delay, life has been a little bit hectic this summer. I am hoping to get this story on a regular update schedule so that I can finish it before I'm 80, but no promises. Anyway, thank you again for reading, and I hope you enjoy it! ♪~ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

_The night is dark and Barbara’s tongue is thick with honey, the warmth of the day still clinging to her skin even as the cold descends upon them. Walter lights six candles, and she asks him to light just one more so she can see him better. He does so with a soft, paternal smile, gently blowing out the match once he finishes. She smiles warmly as she pulls her legs up onto the couch, tucking herself neatly into the corner, taking in the smell of the candles and of the milk that he warms on the stove. “Will you tell me a story?” she asks from where she sits._

_“What story do you want to hear?” he replies, gently stirring the milk with a wooden spoon, his face pleasant despite his apparent concentration._

_“One with the Fairybird King,” she tells him, images of the fearsome creature already running through her mind, his long claws and his wicked smile and the great crown that he wears between his horns a painted fantasy in her imagination. Walter smiles to himself, an amusement that she does not understand playing across his features._

_“Is that so?” He pauses for a moment. “Why would you want to hear about such a beast?” He almost sounds sad for a moment._

_“I think he’s fascinating,” she says, thumbing the skin of her knee through the tear in her jeans. “Tragic, perhaps.” Walter is silent for a long time after she says that, focusing on the milk. Just before it reaches a boil, he pulls it off of the fire and pours it into a mug for her, followed by a spoonful of honey and cardamom, and stirs them together._

_“Tragic.” He at long last repeats the word as he stirs the milk, and lets out a low hum. Clinking the spoon against the rim to get the last few droplets off, he sets the spoon on the counter, and then turns to look at her. His eyes are so terribly, terribly green. “What makes him tragic in your eyes?” Barbara raises her eyebrows, and then furrows them in thought._

_“I don’t know,” she says as he approaches the couch, mug in hand. “I suppose it’s just the way you describe him - he always seems so terribly lonely.” Walter places the mug on the coffee table and sits down next to her, gently wrapping his hand around her thigh. He smiles at her, and there’s something devious about it._

_“Is it the way that he kisses the blood from A Girl’s mouth?” He asks, and Barbara laughs._

_“You’re confusing your own characters, Walter. That’s the Father-Husband that kisses her mouth and fingers.” His smile seems just a bit sadder at that._

_“Oh, is it? No matter.” Reaching out, he clasps her hand in his, and pulls it towards his mouth. “A Girl is lovely and pure. He would kiss her if he could, don’t you think?” He presses his mouth to her palm, looking into her eyes all the while. Green, green, green. “If she had done as she had been told, what do you think that he would have done to her?” Barbara watches him intently, thinking about his question. He pushes up the sleeve of her sweater and kisses her wrist._

_“I can’t imagine that it would be good for her no matter what,” she says. He lets go of her wrist and leans back, lifting her leg and ducking under it. “Tragic, yes, but he only seems to know how to hurt.” Walter smiles, and hooks his hands on her upper thighs, pulling her further down the couch._

_“The clefting in twain?” He asks, slipping his hands under her sweater, across her warm soft belly. The feeling is nauseating for all but a moment. She nods, eyes fluttering closed._

_“It seems so needlessly cruel,” she says. Lifting her sweater to expose her breasts, he leans down and presses a kiss to the place that the Fairybird King would make her into two._

_“Then why would you want to hear of such things?” he asks, fingers trailing lightly over the crease of her abdomen. She pauses._

_“I don’t know,” she replies honestly, opening her eyes to find him still looking at her._

_“Then it is nothing to concern yourself with.” His hands wrap around her ribs, and though his hands are soft, she can feel his fingernails pressing small crescents into her flesh. “Drink your milk.” His voice is a strange growl, but she pays it no mind as she reaches out to her side, fingertips wrapping around the handle of her mug. His teeth on her belly are sharp like fangs, but they only tickle the soft hairs as he nibbles her ever so gently._

* * *

Barbara’s lips part, inhaling deeply as she can before exhaling once more. She pauses at the foot of the hill before her to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her brow. The day is strangely warm, and the air is thicker than usual. It has a tiring quality that’s unfamiliar to Barbara in its intensity, and it’s strange in the emotion that it brings about within her.

Of course, it’s not the only strange thing about this day.

She can hear the fairybirds flitting through the trees nearby as she passes, their whispers and giggles seeming somehow ominous even in the bright sunlight. They have always been such docile, sweet creatures (in spite of them being pests that always steal from Walter’s herb garden,) but in the odd quality of the air, their small voices seem to be fat with secrets. _What is she doing?_ They seem to ask, peeking out at her from behind nearby saplings. _Why does she wear that look?_ Another says, and a muscle twitches on Barbara’s face. _Is Walter not good enough for her anymore?_ Leaning down suddenly, she grabs a rock and flings it in the direction of the whispers. Half a dozen fairybirds squeal and scatter from their hiding place, complaining at her violence as they flee.

Of course Walter is good enough. He is all that she has ever known, and ever truly will. This is not abandonment - it’s just curiosity, a desire to learn of strange new things that she never has had a chance to know. Nevermind that Nomura is the most beautiful thing that she has ever seen, with mysterious eyes and a look on her face that speaks of a mischievous nature even the words she speaks are of the utmost seriousness, and nevermind that Barbara cannot bring herself to think of anything else, even though she tries. She’s never seen anything like Nomura before, the shape of her so similar to her own, but so different at the same time.

It doesn’t matter. Who’s to say that the mysterious woman will even show herself today? Barbara dismisses the thought that anything serious is afoot, but she can’t help the feeling of anxiety from creeping up her spine at the thought that she may not come. Shaking her head, she presses on, determined to at least finish her walk, even if the intended meeting does not come to pass.

The trees even seem to fall silent as she walks, their usual soft swaying stilled in the heat. The sounds of the forest are muted and distant, as if she truly is alone in the world. Loose strands of hair stick to her forehead, and she wipes the sweat away with the back of her arm, vaguely aware of how the thin fabric of her tank top is sticking to the top of her breasts. Where did this heat come from? Their world had always been perfect in every way, the temperature always ideal for whatever each situation required. Never had she felt anything like this heat, even on the warmer days when they went swimming in the lake. It was heavy and thick with something that she can only describe as dread, a feeling that she only has ever experienced during the darker stories that Walter tells her.

Trying once more to push the worry from her mind, she takes in a deep gulp of air before she begins ascending the steep incline of the hill ahead of her, the angle of it seemingly steeper than the day before - but perhaps she is mistaken. Things always do seem to change rather frequently here in order for them to stay exactly the same. As she climbs the hill, hands out to brace herself as she slips a little in the mud, she looks rather like some quadruped attempting to experience the benefits of upright locomotion for the first time. While attempting this climb, she slips and catches herself with her outstretched hands, letting out an _oof_ as she makes contact with the ground a little bit harder than she had wanted to. She lets out a small noise of frustration, and then continues clambering up the slope with less grace than she usually has.

Upon reaching the peak, she takes in deep gulps of hot, sticky air, closing her eyes as she catches her breath. She takes off her glasses, and using the collar of her shirt she wipes the sweat from her brow once again. Allowing the shirt to fall back into place as a damp mess on her chest, she places her glasses back onto her face, supports sinking gently back into the indentations on the side of her nose. Opening her eyes once more, she feels her heart skip a beat as she looks across the valley to the sight on the other bank - further away than she had been yesterday, but still radiant and beautiful in a way that Barbara never could have imagined.

Nomura seems not to have noticed her yet, her gaze focused on the goblin that lays in her lap, the creature crooning softly as she strokes its back with steady, slow movements. Two more goblins circle around her, braiding buttercups into her hair, the small flowers a warm yellow against her long, long black locks. Her hair seems longer than it had the day before, but perhaps it is a trick of the light, with the way that its tresses seem to melt into the shade that she sits in. She is more than lovely, but when Barbara looks at her face she sees a look of sorrow, of determination. It is a strange contortion on such a beautiful face, and it unnerves her.

Nomura looks up at her rather suddenly, her eyes glinting in the spots of light that filter through the leaves. Barbara feels heat rise to her cheeks as their gazes meet, and she awkwardly waves. The woman smirks, a bitter amusement tucked into the corners of her lips. It’s a strange look that she always wears, something wistful and something daring all at once. Rousing the goblin from her lap, she stands, brushing the dirt from her knees. She stares at Barbara for a long time, silently appraising her with that strange look on her face.

As if a spell has been cast on the both of them, they stand silent, not for lack of things to say, but rather due to a need to not break the silence between them. The air seems thick with far too many things to be discussed, and unleashing that torrent will break everything like careless feet over eggshells.  
  
Slowly, Nomura takes a step forward towards the gentle slope that leads into the valley below. Without awareness of her actions, Barbara mirrors her step and moves towards the valley as well, enraptured by the strange woman. As they walk towards each other, descending, the walls of the valley become shallower and easier to walk down. As they walk, the walls seem to also become longer, pushing them further apart - but still they walk, staring directly at one another, unable to break their fixed gazes away from one another. As they reach the bottom, they come to a stop on either side of the narrow stream, and Barbara feels heat rise in her cheeks again as she gets a closer look at Nomura.  
  
Somehow, she seems even more magnificent up close, even more mesmerizing and radiant. She takes in the details of her face, the soft curve of her lips, the shape of her large almond eyes, the sharp angle of her eyebrows. All the details of her are magnificent, unlike anything that Barbara could have imagined - and yet she is a face that is terribly familiar, something that she thinks maybe she saw in a dream once.  
  
Nomura is likewise transfixed by Barbara, those eyes scanning every detail of her, seeing but not believing. The girl-woman inhales sharply, suddenly feeling out of breath now that she is being looked at so intently. It is not the sort of thing that she’s used to - she sometimes catches Walter staring at her, of course, but that is nothing compared to this. Nomura looks her over with an attention to detail that is apparent even to the casual observer, as if she’s trying to remember every single detail of this moment.  
  
“Where did you come from?” Barbara asks rather breathily, although her voice remains quiet and soft in the heavy silence around them. Nomura stops her perusal of Barbara’s mouth to look back into her eyes, seemingly startled. She smiles that strange smile again, and lets out a soft chuckle. She’s silent for another few moments before she responds.  
  
“I come from the world of waking darkness,” she says simply, as if the words themselves aren’t full of a sinister energy. Barbara does not understand what she means, but the words send a chill down her spine, and she feels something cold on the back of her neck. “Come, let us walk.” Turning downstream, she at last pulls her gaze away from the girl-woman, and begins to walk. As if her every movement is tied to hers Barbara turns as well, walking in step with the mysterious woman.  
  
“How did you get here?” Barbara asks, intermittently looking at Nomura while she watches the path ahead. “I thought that Walter and I were the only people that could come here.” Nomura laughs again, and there’s something sinister about it. Everything seems so sinister these days.  
  
“He thinks so too,” she replies. She brushes a lock of raven black hair behind her ear absently, tracing her finger along her jaw before letting her hand fall back to her side. Barbara looks down at the ground ahead of Nomura, and notices that she’s barefoot. She wonders if her feet hurt against the small pebbles.  
  
There is a question that lingers on the back of her tongue, but it feels somehow forbidden to speak it into existence. If she doesn’t say it, perhaps they can pretend that it’s not on her mind. Perhaps they can have a moment of peace, of quiet - perhaps they can ignore the heavy mood hovering around them for another few minutes. The woman looks up at the walls of the valley around them, observing the trees on the banks far above, seemingly now trying to avoid looking at Barbara.

“This is a beautiful place,” Nomura observes, looking around. It all of a sudden hits Barbara that she is scanning the area, those lovely lovely eyes searching for signs of danger. The thought makes Barbara feel cold. _What was that? The beast behind the tree?_ “It is no surprise that he made this into your home.” There’s a bitterness there, something that speaks of familiarity. _Are we safe here?_  
  
“Do you know him?” The question slips out when she doesn’t mean for it to and though it causes a leap in Barbara’s heart, Nomura seems hardly bothered. She simply looks down at the ground as she walks, watching as the stones crunch beneath her feet. Nomura is silent for a few moments before she replies.  
  
“In a way.” Her response is evasive, but Barbara is not surprised by that. Everything about her is strange, including her speech. In the absence of her voice, Barbara can hear the three goblins trailing at a distance behind them, cackling and tousling in the dirt before scrambling up the walls of the valley. Nomura at last looks at her again, although her gaze is much more temporary than it had been before. “How long have you been here?” The question feels strange to Barbara, something that she doesn’t quite know how to answer.  
  
“For as long as I can remember,” she says, and she can see a small grimace form on Nomura’s face.  
  
“And how long is that?”

_How long have the fairybirds flitted through the trees? How long have the tall oaks waltzed through the summers? How long has the wind blown? How long has the water flowed between the tall banks etched into the earth by time?_

“I-I don't…”

_How long has Walter weaved stories? How long has he brushed his long fingers through her hair? How long has he smiled that sad smile? How long has he held her, his arms a warm cage?_

She realizes all of a sudden that her heart is thudding in her chest. Stopping, she fixates on a pretty weed that is growing up in between a patch of stones and forces herself to breathe deeply. Nomura stops too, something like concern on her features. The girl-woman takes another deep breath, closing her eyes - but as they close, those glowing eyes swim in the darkness before her. She opens her eyes again, looking at the weed.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly, wrapping her arms around herself. She suddenly feels naked, her shirt sticky against her skin, clinging to her body in a way that feels unnatural. This had been a perfect place, a perfect world - now it all feels so strange. She looks back to Nomura to find the woman watching her, her face grave. Barbara lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry, that’s not a very helpful answer, is it?” Nomura smiles just a bit, but it’s queasy.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Here, sit down and cool off.” As she speaks the words, Nomura sits down on the bank, tucking her legs underneath her and looks up expectantly at Barbara. Her yellow dress spreads around her like the sun as she sits there, waiting patiently for the girl-woman to follow her lead. After a moment, Barbara does, and the rushing in her ears seems to quiet just a bit as she settles down onto her legs. She exhales, and then smiles warmly at Nomura.

“I’m fascinated by you,” Barbara says frankly, and she swears that she can see Nomura blush. Taken aback, the woman awkwardly smiles back and smooths a wrinkle in her dress before looking up.

“What is your life like here?” Nomura asks, steering the conversation elsewhere. Barbara thinks for a few moments, reaching her hand down into the stream before them. Scooping up a handful of water, she splashes it on her face and neck, the water soaking her shirt further, making the fabric nearly translucent. Deep in thought, she gazes up at the bank over Nomura’s shoulder, still subconsciously searching for danger beyond.

“It’s soft,” she says at last. “I wake up, I watch the fairybirds, I eat breakfast, I go outside. I draw, I listen to the trees waltz, I go home. Walter tells me stories. I go to bed.” She exhales, and she finds herself thinking about her daily routine. _Is it strange? It feels strange here, now._ “That’s really it.” She looks back at Nomura, and she sees on her face for the briefest moment a look of abject horror before she masks it with a look that is pleasant but stoic. It sends a shudder down Barbara’s spine, accompanied by a sensation of dread.

“I see,” she says, and then looks down at one of the buttercups braided into her hair. A small fly buzzes around it. “Do you know anything of the world of waking darkness?” She asks, and Barbara shakes her head.

“No, I don’t think so. I hadn’t even heard of it until you mentioned it.” She pauses, examining Nomura’s face for some kind of hint - but for what, she does not know. “What’s it like there?”

She’s quiet for a long moment as she watches the water in front of them. “It’s different. It’s colder, I suppose.” They both fall silent, and the sense of tension around them seems to ebb and flow. The world is quiet still, interrupted only by the faint sound of the stream flowing between them. The woman looks up again at last, and takes a deep breath that Barbara barely notices.

“What about Jim?”

The name hits Barbara like a punch in the face, and she feels winded. She nearly doubles over, but instead sits as still as a statue, the shock coursing through her body. _Jim. Jim. Jim. I don't know a Jim. There is no Jim. There is only Walter._ She looks at Nomura, and she finds that the woman is watching her intently, eyes wide.

She forces out a laugh, wearing a look of confusion as if Nomura had suddenly sprouted a second set of eyes above the first. “Jim? Who is Jim?” The name crosses her lips, and it feels like another blow to the gut, and she gasps before laughing again. “I don’t know who that is.” Nomura wears a look of fear and determination now, her hands balling into fists in her lap.

“Barbara... Jim is your son.”

 _My son._ She can’t breathe.

“That’s ridiculous,” she laughs, taking in shallow breaths. The words sound harsh, bitter, and she spits them out. “I’m far too young to have a son - besides, I think I’d remember something like that.” Who is this woman anyway? She’s a stranger, she knows nothing of Barbara, or of Walter - she’s trying to ruin this beautiful place, and she’s doing it so very well! “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

All of a sudden, Nomura lunges forward, knees splashing into the shallow stream and soaking her yellow dress as she grabs Barbara by the shoulders, pushing her to the ground. Barbara shouts, and for the first time in her life she feels fear. Staring up at Nomura’s face, she sees something desperately sad there, something angry, and a scream catches in her throat. What has she done? Why has she allowed herself to be blinded by this strange woman and her bizarre words?

“Look at me Barbara! _Look_ at me!” Nomura’s voice sounds desperate, and her short fingernails dig into the soft flesh of Barbara's shoulders. “This isn’t right, and you know it. You’re not a child, Barbara - you’re a _prisoner!_ ”

_A prisoner?_

“What are you talking about? Let me go!” Wriggling, Barbara attempts to push Nomura away, but the woman hold her tight, pinning her to the ground.

“Listen to me! Please, I’m trying to _save_ you, none of this is alright! You need to come back!” She seems unhinged all of a sudden, a creature not unlike the goblins that trail her like harbingers.

“ _No_! Let me go! _Please_ let me go! You’re scaring me!” Barbara’s voice wavers as she screams, and tears begin to bubble in her eyes. That seems to startle her, and Nomura’s grip loosens for a moment. That proves to be all that Barbara needs to push her off, sending her tumbling into the stream. Barbara tries to scramble back, but it’s no use because Nomura is upon her again, pinning her once more.

“Stop trying to run, please! Just listen, listen to my voice, you _know_ me! You knew my name! You _know_ me!” Nomura is begging her now, her voice nearly a sob. The pain in her voice twists something in Barbara’s gut, and she feels a wave of anguish wash over her. “How old are you, Barbara? _How old are you?_ ” The question catches her off guard, and Barbara stares up wide-eyed. She’s silent now, and her struggle becomes less violent though she continues to squirm. Nomura stares down at her, scanning her eyes for recognition. Finding none, she lets out a frustrated noise and then grabs Barbara’s bag, reaching in. Barbara watches as the woman pulls out a hand mirror, and shoves it in front of the girl-woman’s face. “Look!”

She looks.

And as she looks, she sees a transformation take place before her eyes. With lovely lovely blue eyes, a teenage girl stares back at her. _Th-thump._ A young woman, nearly twenty-three and lovely stares back. _Th-thump._ A woman, thirty and worn down already stares back. _Th-thump._ A woman, thirty-seven and tired stares back. _Th-thump._

A woman, fourty-one and deeply in love stares back.

“Look at me Barbara.”

Like the gift of her own name, the sound of Nomura’s voice in her mind hits her like a bolt of lightning, and she jerks back. Looking past the mirror, she sees Nomura staring down at her, those green green eyes swimming in emotions though they refuse to shed a tear - she always did hate crying. _And why do you know that, Barbara?_

“Who are you?” She chokes out the words, and Nomura herself looks as if she’s been punched in the gut. Slumping back, Nomura stares hopelessly at Barbara, feeling rather foolish for how her gamble has played out. Seeing an opening, Barbara tears away from her, scrambling back and jumping up to her feet. Rising to her feet as well, Nomura stares as Barbara flees.

“Barbara! Please!” She shouts the words after her as the girl-woman scrambles up the bank, mud under her fingernails as she climbs madly.

Both of them hear the sound of large wings cutting through the silence beyond the sound of pebbles falling. Time is up.

“Please, you have come back tomorrow! Please! _Promise_ me Barbara! _Please_ promise me!”

Barbara does not reply, but she knows that she will return. Confusing thoughts swim through her mind, and she cannot live now without knowing the answers.

As she runs home, body heavy with the humidity, the weight of her uncertainty holding her back, she can see the beast stalking her out of the corner of her eye.

_Who are you?_

* * *

_She opens her eyes in a dark room, her heart pounding in her chest, and the smell of cardamom thick in her nose._

_Where am I?_

_Th-thump._

_What is this?_

_Th-thump._

_Who is that?_

_Th-thump._

_She hears whispers, distant and cold, and it causes her heart to pound even harder._

_Th-thump._

_What are the words they’re saying? How many voices? Is it one or a thousand?_

_Th-thump._

_One word rings out clear in her mind, and it makes her feel so so very cold._

_Th-thump._

_Siritherde._

_Th-thump._

_In that dark, dark room with her useless legs and her frozen body, she lets out a muted sob._

_Th-thump._

_Where is Zelda?_

* * *

When Barbara arrives back at the cottage, it has grown cold and the forest is loud with the sounds of life carrying on. She shivers, her hair wet with sweat sticking to her flesh. Hugging herself to keep warm, she walks up the steps, and as she reaches the final one the door opens. Walter stares down at her, worry etched onto his features. “Barbara, my goodness! What happened to you?” She shudders, and lets out a small sob. “Oh darling, oh my sweet - come here.” Pulling her into his arms, his embrace is warm and soft, secure. She feels at peace at once, and without hesitation she wraps her arms around him as well, sinking into his chest.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels tears springing to her eyes.

“I’m so grateful that you’re here and alive and warm, my goodness. I was so worried about you. What happened?” Hands on her upper arms, he holds her away from him, brows furrowed as he looks down at her. She stares up at him, suddenly feeling so very, very small.

_You’re not a child - you’re a prisoner._

She feels that lurch in her gut again, and she shudders in the cold. “I got lost,” she lies, staring into his green green eyes. They’re so very different from Nomura’s. “I was exploring an area I didn’t know very well and fell down a cliff and lost my bag, and then I got even more lost.” She feels another wave of tears well up in her eyes, and she lets out another sob. “Walter, I was so scared.”

“Oh my darling, come here.” His voice is soft and sympathetic, and he pulls her back into his arms once more, rocking her slowly as she shuts her eyes. He smells of spices and some kind of soup that sits uneaten on the stove. He smells comfortable, like stability and home. “Let’s get you washed and fed, and then I’ll make you some warm milk and you can get a good night’s sleep.” Pressing her nose into his sweater, she catches a whiff of cardamom. He smells comfortable, like stability and home.

She opens her eyes again, and as she looks through their inviting house bathed in warm light, she looks out the window on the other side. In the window, she sees a single pair of eyes, bright and watching her intently. Closing her eyes, she nuzzles back into Walter’s shoulder.

He feeds her, and bathes her, and then sends her to bed with a mug of warm milk with honey and cardamom. Laying in bed, she tries but fails to push the thought of Nomura from her mind. She thinks of her pretty red lips, of the desperation in her eyes, of the feeling of her fingernails in her shoulders. She is beautiful and terrifying, and as much as Barbara wishes to forget her, she knows that she will see her again tomorrow. As the last of her consciousness fades, a single word swims in her mind before it too fades away.

_Siritherde._


	4. The Rabbit (Ranunculus asiaticus iii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry about the delay again, this chapter gave me a lot of trouble. It's kind of an awkward chapter because I'm very excited about the next one, but I was uncertain how best to bridge the gap between that one and the one before this. Initially this first part was supposed to be three chapters, but too much had to happen so it's going to be four instead. I feel good about how this ended up, however, and I hope that you enjoy reading it. I hope to get the next chapter up sooner, but as usual I make no promises. Thanks again for reading!
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING!!**  
>  This chapter contains animal death and butchering at the end. It's a little graphic while not too excessive, but I want to give you a warning ahead of time.

As a girl, Barbara had been known to have vivid dreams, the kind that woke her from her peaceful slumber and sent her barefoot crying to her parents room. It is the price to pay when one has a powerful imagination, and father used to joke that if she believed too much in the shadows she saw on the periphery of her vision, they would come alive and devour her whole.  _ Be careful dear, _ he had said with a laugh in his voice when she told him of the monster that lived in the corner of their living room.  _ If you step too far into the dark, I won’t be able to pull you to safety. _ It had sent a chill down Barbara’s spine, and she hadn’t understood where he found the humor in such words.

_ The world is warm, sticky and suffocating. _

The shadows are alive now, and they creep steadily after her as she runs and runs and runs, breathing hard. Terror clings to her like wet silk, her vision blurry in the dark and the cotton in her head. “Zelda!” She cries out in a voice that she does not recognize, panicked and so terribly lost. “Zelda where are you?” Only the trees answer, their leaves and branches shuddering out a dark tune, the score to her horrified flight. The fairybirds that flutter ahead giggle in a way that is menacing, and her heart beats faster and faster than she thought possible.  _ He's coming! He's coming for you!  _ They chitter gleefully, their tiny hands pulling at her hair and pricking at her skin with their sharp claws. She bats them away, but still they pursue her, cackling wildly.

She can hear a dull roar in the distance, and it makes her heated skin run cold. The sound is coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, surrounding her, trapping her.  _ Run, run little rabbit! He’s going to gobble you up if you don’t get away! _ They laugh and laugh and laugh, and Barbara can feel the sting of tears in her eyes. It’s a nightmare - she knows it is. But where is the way  _ out _ of it? “Zelda!” She screams out again, and there is no reply but the incessant laughter of the fairybirds and the monstrous roar growing louder. The trees loom larger the deeper she runs into the woods, the moonlight casting a sickly yellow over the gnarled trunks. The forest that looked so friendly and warm in the daylight takes a beastly shape in the dark, and she’s lost - so, so lost.

She hears the beating of wings overhead, and she frantically casts her gaze upwards while continuing to sprint. She can see a shadow flitting through the trees, much larger than the fairybirds that circle her, their small bodies electrified with glee as they too catch sight of the shadow.  _ He’s here! He’s here! _ But it’s not him that they’re speaking of - she knows the shadow, the one that lingers on the periphery with sharp talons and a smile that is far too toothy and wide. As she finds her gaze meeting the glowing eyes of the shadow, she feels her breath catch once again - and then she’s tumbling to the ground, her foot catching on a root that she did not have the awareness to see in her desperate flight.

She lets out a pained cry as she collides with the dirt, cheek smacking hard against soil as she fails to catch herself in time. The wings beat three more times, and then there is a rustling in a nearby tree, and the woods fall silent. The fairybirds are gone, their giggling and taunting naught but a memory. The trees stop their swaying, and the entire world seems to be frozen. Barbara shakily raises herself up onto her elbows, staring straight ahead. There is a break in the trees not a dozen yards before her - close enough that she can make it if she runs  _ now. _ Glancing to her side, she sees those eyes watching her from a high branch on a nearby tree, unblinking. As she struggles to her feet, they continue watch her, no emotion betrayed by the glow. She feels blood on her hands - her own presumably - but there is no time to deal with that now.

She begins to run.

She’s running fast, as fast as she can.

When she looks to her side again, she does not see the trees flying by her. Instead, they all stay exactly the same, horrifyingly stationary. She feels a surge of panic as she realizes that she’s sinking, her feet being pulled down into the ground before she has a chance to take another step. She screams again, trying to pull her legs free to no avail, her hands too slick with blood to do anything more than leave streaks of red on her calves. With a final tug, she falls to her knees, her legs being absorbed further and further into the ground. She claws desperately at the dirt, pushing through the pain as she feels a nail pop free from her left ring finger, soil mixing in with her oozing wounds.

And then, she’s not sinking anymore - but still she claws, panting as she tries desperately to free herself without making any leeway. A taloned foot steps into her line of sight, and she freezes. Slowly, she moves her gaze upwards, taking in the tall, terrifying shadow before her, its large wings outstretched. She realizes that she’s stopped breathing, and she exhales, a small cloud of fog escaping from in between her lips. As it wafts upwards, it catches the glow of His eyes, slitted pupils like fissures in the earth as they stare down at her.

_ This is a nightmare. _

She knows this, and yet she still stares up at the creature, her heart racing. Suddenly, he looks up, his gaze focussing on something behind her - and she hears it then, a deep guttural growl that rumbles through the very ground. She shakes, terror grasping her by the neck, the air suddenly cold.  _ They opened the bridge, and something came through. _ The thought cuts through the fog in her mind for all but a moment before it's gone again, lost in the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. She stares up at the creature before her, not daring to crane her head to look behind.

The creature looks down at her, seeming almost forlorn as she feels enormous claws wrap around her waist.

And then Barbara awakes in the idyllic world, the memory of her nightmare dissipating as she regains feeling in her legs and her mind fills with thoughts of the woman in the glen with her hair as black as midnight and her eyes as bright as emeralds. She opens her eyes, the warmth of the morning sunlight beaming down on her face, and as she looks towards the door to her room she sees her bag leaning against the wall next to the doorframe, as if it had never been lost.

_ Today will change everything. _

* * *

The day is even hotter than the one before as she mounts the crest of the hill, looking across the valley towards where she knows Nomura will be. Even as she had dressed and slung her bag over her shoulder before leaving the house, she had thought that this whole thing was a terrible idea, and that she would be much better off pretending that Nomura didn’t exist and that she was much more interested in spending her days with Walter. Clearly that thought was discarded, because now she looks across the valley and sees Nomura sitting there, tying together a bundle of buttercups. As before, Barbara stares at her for a few moments before the woman notices and looks up, seemingly both startled and pleased to see her. Perhaps she had been expecting that Barbara truly would resist coming back.

The woman opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it, simply staring motionless at Barbara. The girl-woman looks at her again for another few moments before she begins descending into the valley below. Nomura stands, but does not walk down, simply watching her with a sense of uncertainty. Walking across the valley floor, Barbara begins climbing up the other hill, up towards Nomura. She seems taken aback by this, and as Barbara arrives at the top, out of breath and slick with sweat, her gaze reflects an emotion that cannot be easily identified. Barbara looks at her standing but three feet away, and she once more knows that in spite of the tension weighing on her shoulders, this is right, this is as it’s supposed to be. Nomura speaks first, breaking the heavy silence between them.

“I’m sorry for being so forceful yesterday,” she says, unable to hold Barbara’s gaze for more than a moment. The girl-woman still feels cautious around her, but she cannot help herself. There is a deep feeling of trust that overwhelms her in spite of it all, and she knows that Nomura was only doing what she had to.

“It’s alright,” she says, smiling softly at her. “You frightened me, but you must have had a reason.” Extending her hand, Barbara looks expectantly at the woman. Nomura raises her eyebrows in surprise, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink. It’s perhaps the most endearing thing that Barbara has ever seen.

She hesitates for another moment, and then takes the girl-woman’s offered hand. It feels natural, and her hand fits inside of Barbara’s perfectly, as if their hands were made for one another. Nomura stares down at their intertwined fingers for a long time before she looks back into her eyes, smiling with a warmth thus far unseen by Barbara. It makes her heart skip a beat.

“Shall we?” Barbara asks, nodding her head down the hill away from the valley, the area of land that she sees as Nomura’s. The woman nods, still smiling that sweet, cautious smile, and they begin descending the hill. The ground is steep, but with her boots Barbara feels confident in her steps. The grass does truly seem to be greener on this side of the valley, and as they breach the treeline she can hear the fairybirds once more. As they walk the woman moves with a grace that Barbara does not have and for a moment she feels a bit sheepish about it, but Nomura says nothing of it and simply continues down the slope.

As they reach a large step down over a particularly gnarled root emerging from the ground, Barbara jumps over it and helps Nomura down, a chivalrous action that she does without a thought. The woman smiles knowingly, accepting her help without a word. It feels right, and that alone makes her both excited and nervous.

As they reach the bottom of the hill, the air seems cooler than the side that Barbara and Walter live on, and their hands don’t stick together unpleasantly like she would have assumed. She pauses, looking around her as she realizes that she has no idea where to go next. She has never ventured to this side of the valley, and nothing about it looks familiar to her. The trees here are enormous, lush and green and alive with fairybirds and goblins and little rodents scurrying along their great roots. She feels at peace here, her hand in Nomura’s, and a sense that this is familiar washes over her. The woman squeezes her hand slightly to get her attention, and Barbara looks.

“Come. It’s this way.” Barbara doesn’t ask what  _ it _ is, but simply follows as Nomura pulls her gently towards a row of trees that slope inward at the tops, forming what looks more and more like a tunnel the closer that they get. As they enter into the tunnel, a breeze blows past them and it chills her as it hits the drying sweat on her skin. They walk over grass, hands intertwined and arms bumping, and Barbara finds herself more aware of Nomura than before. The details of her stand out when they’re in close proximity like this, such as the way that her neck curves, the strong shape of her jaw, the fact that she stands a few inches shorter, forcing her to bend her elbow just a bit to be able to hold the girl-woman’s hand. It’s so strange in comparison to Walter, a man who looms large in Barbara’s life in more ways than one - and yet that familiarity is there, something about her that Barbara could not forget if she tried.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks as she turns to look at her, and Nomura continues to look ahead, her pace remaining the same.

“Where you need to go,” the woman replies evasively before falling silent once more. Barbara does not like how vague she’s being, but she doesn’t know how to express it in a way that won’t antagonize this familiar stranger. The woods ahead seem darker, but she can see the patchwork of sunlight beaming down to the ground below. She can see thistles on the path ahead, and she pulls Nomura close, keeping her from walking into them. The woman smirks a little bit, but says nothing. As they continue, they pass by more and more patches of thistle, and Barbara finds herself staring at them, her brow furrowed in confusion.  _ Thistle. Thistle and a wild rabbit. _ A faint memory tickles at the back of her mind, threatening to erupt into dark knowledge.

As she looks at the dark, needly plants, the memory looms larger. She cannot make out the blurry faces that she sees swimming before her eyes, and she feels the blood on her hands nearly as faintly as she feels the sticky trails of tears on her cheeks. As she looks into one of the patches, she sees a loose tuft of fur, and she comes to a halt. Nomura stops as well, not releasing her hand, and simply comes to stand close to her side. She looks down at the thistle too and a look of recognition passes over her face, though Barbara does not see it. She watches the girl-woman for a few silent moments, the breeze blowing gently through their hair. “What are you thinking about?” she asks, her voice soft, but stronger than the sound of light wind in Barbara’s ears. The girl-woman is silent for a few moments before she gathers her thoughts enough to respond.

“When I was a girl, I used to go visit my grandparents farm,” she says at last, her voice distant and dreamy. The fairybirds chitter overhead more loudly, flying from one branch to another. “They lived right on the edge of the woods, and I used to spend so much time out there. I liked to draw, to pick flowers.” The fingers on her empty hand twitch, as if feeling their soft petals under her skin. “I used to make crowns for my grandmother and grandfather, and I would always have a fresh bouquet for the dining room table when we had tea and hot cocoa.” Something churns in her gut, the feeling of a deep wrong.  _ The rabbit. _ She can nearly see it now, right there before her. Nomura simply watches her face, listening as she recounts the distant memory.

“When I was there one summer…” Barbara trails off, trying to remember a detail that feels so odd to her.  _ How old was I? How old am I? How long ago was it? How long have I been here? _ Pulling herself back to the present, she shakes her head as if to rattle loose any distractions that still linger. “I was sixteen.” She says the words, and she knows they must be true because she sounds so very sure of it. “When I was there, I went out into the woods, and as I was picking flowers, I came across a patch of thistle.” She hesitates again, feeling a shiver run down her spine. She squeezes her eyes shut as she recalls the image, her brow furrowing. “There was... there was a rabbit. It was stuck, its fur tangled in the needles, its coat bloody.” Her grip on the woman’s hand tightens. “It clearly had been attacked by something, and then got stuck in the patch. I tried to help it, and I got it free, but it bit me.” She can feel the pain in her hand as if it were fresh. “It was such a mess, it was bloody and I was bloody, and it hurt so much. I know I must have scared it, but…”

She trails off, and the woods are silent again, save for the light breeze rustling through the leaves. As Barbara turns to look at the other woman, there’s something strange in her gaze, a kind of distance in her eyes. Nomura stares right back at her, a familiarity in them. “I’ve told you that story before,” she says.

“Yes,” Nomura replies, fingers brushing over the small scar Barbara’s hand. Funny, even she had forgotten it was there.

There is no grandmother. There is no grandfather. These are relics from a world that does not exist.

“How can we possibly know each other?” Barbara asks, a thick haze settling over her mind once again. Nomura moves to stand in front of her, grasping her other hand as well.

“We’ve known each other for quite some time. Not long enough, but that will always be the case between us.” Lifting up their hands, Nomura presses a kiss to the scar on Barbara’s hand. She blushes, watching as the woman looks up at her.

“But how?” She asks again. Nomura stares up at her still, her lips a firm line now.

“You’re not going to be able to remember,” she says. “No matter how hard you try, this place will suffocate the thoughts before you even get a chance to think them.”

“This place?” She asks. Nomura nods.

“This place. Barbara, you won’t be able to process this but - it’s not real. None of it.”

_ Not real. _ But how could that be? She hears the chittering above them, feels the breeze across her skin. How could this place not be real? “That doesn’t make any sense,” she says. This world is for her and Walter. It’s theirs, and it’s real.

“It won’t,” Nomura says. “The way that the magic here works... it’s powerful, and you won’t be able to break through it through sheer force of will alone.”

Barbara does not look at Nomura, and instead focuses her gaze straight ahead. She’s right. She can’t process it. As soon as she thinks that she’s caught hold of the thought, of the truth, it slips free from her.  _ Like a rabbit. _ She feels irritation creeping up her spine now, a frustration that is so unfamiliar to her. This is a world without pain, without negativity - and yet she feels it nonetheless, like something has taken hold of her.

She looks to Nomura, seeing the strange emotion in her large, bright green eyes. In spite of herself, she feels a twinge of resentment towards the woman. What has she done? What gave her the right to complicate things like this?

Barbara releases her hand, and begins walking once more. As their fingers slip apart, Nomura’s hand falls loosely to her side once more. Something tells the girl-woman that she had been expecting this, but as the nausea and confusion settles like a fog in her mind, she can’t think too hard about it. What happens now? She does not know, but she feels that she must keep trying.

With the sound of twigs snapping underfoot, Barbara walks on, knowing not exactly where she goes, but sensing that this is the correct way. Although she is nearly silent, she can still hear the swish of Nomura’s dress as she follows behind. As her new irritation grabs hold of her, she nearly wants to send Nomura away, to tell her to leave and never come back - but that draw to her that she feels stops her from saying anything at all. As she walks, she looks straight ahead, listening as the world around them dances. The trees waltz, their limbs swaying to and fro in the breeze in such a lovely, lovely way, and the creatures in this forest are mirroring their journey once more. She watches the path, but out of the corner of her eye the trees begin to look familiar, as if they were spawned from her dreams.

_ I've been here before. _

The thought comes to her suddenly as she feels phantom claws around her waist, cutting into her belly. She stops walking, her hand coming to rest on her abdomen. She looks down, half expecting to see blood, but she sees nothing but her damp shirt resting on her soft skin. Nomura stands alongside her again, her hand coming to rest on the girl-woman's upper arm. Barbara looks at her, trying to chase down her thoughts once again - but still they elude her.

“The moment that I try to think anything, the thought slips away like figures in the fog.” It’s a thought rather poetic for something so maddening, but she does not know how else to describe it. “That fog - how do I lift it?” she asks, and Nomura stares up at her with those eyes holding a thought imperceptible.

“I’ll show you, but you have to keep walking,” she says gently. The urgency of the days before seems to be gone from her, but her tone is still serious. Barbara nods, and as Nomura slips her hand back into hers, she lets her fingers clasp it gently. The woman leads her again, moving forward towards the place that calls to her for reasons unknown. The trees around them seem taller and taller, the way they loom growing more and more menacing the further in they walk.  _ Is this a bad idea? Why should I trust this woman? _ Barbara shakes the thoughts from her mind once more, instinct telling her that following her is more important than whatever fear Walter had instilled in her.

They walk for some time in silence, the world around them washing in warm yellows and oranges as the sun moves lower and lower into the sky. She should go back soon, back to Walter. He wouldn't like it if she came back late again, especially after the way she scared him so terribly the day before. But then she looks at Nomura, and can only focus on the way that the waning sunlight reflects off of the midnight black of her silky hair.

At last, they come to a break in the trees, and before them is a cliff. Barbara takes in a sharp breath, squeezing Nomura's hand a little bit tighter as she takes in the grand majesty of the scene before her. As she looks, she sees a great valley, flanked on all sides by hills covered in lush forest. At the bottom lies a lake, shimmering blue and beautiful in the last rays of sunlight. She can see the fairybirds chasing each other across its surface, fishes flying out of the surface of the lake, and without realizing it she finds herself smiling.

“Barbara.” Nomura’s voice cuts through the reverie, and she turns to look at her. She seems not nearly as taken with the scene, her face grave once more. It sets Barbara on edge, but she simply says nothing, just gives her her full attention. “You must listen to me if you want to make it out of here alive,” she says, and it sends a chill down her spine.  _ Alive? _

“Am I in danger?” Barbara asks hesitantly, her brow furrowed.

“A tremendous amount,” she replies, letting go of her hand. Reaching into her pocket, Nomura pulls out a small pendant that glitters bright green in the sunlight, rays catching on the silver around the emerald set in the center of it. “You must follow my instructions perfectly. Can you promise me that, Barbara?” She nods, staring curiously at the pendant. It nearly seems to be humming in the air, an odd thing for an inanimate object to do.

“Tonight, place this under your pillow. When you fall asleep, you will be pulled into the memories that this place is suppressing, and you will be able to remember.” As she speaks, the wind seems to die down, and with a nervous glance at the woods behind them, she speaks with more urgency as she looks back at the girl-woman. “It won't be easy to do it, and you need to remember to be strong and brave. Can you do that?”

“I think so,” Barbara says, panic beginning to grow in her chest as she looks into Nomura’s eyes and recognizes that imperceptible emotion as fear. “But what happens after I remember?” The woman exhales sharply, her face pulling into a smile that’s pained.

“After you remember, I can set you free,” she says, and Barbara feels a swell of emotion at the words.  _ Free. _ “After you remember, I can take you  _ home. _ ”

Home. Home where they hold hands over cups of tea, calves brushing against each other under the table. Home where they come home to each other and Barbara tries to cook something and Nomura swoops in to fix it while playfully scolding her. Home where love has found her and Zelda, where it will never let them go.

_ Zelda. _

Nomura’s eyes grow wide, and it is only then that Barbara realizes that she’s said the strange name aloud. “I didn’t think you remembered,” she says incredulously, her voice choked with emotion. Barbara shakes her head, grabbing Nomura’s hands in her own and holding them up.

“I don’t remember,” she murmurs, her voice nearly lost in the wind that begins to pick up around them. “I don’t, but I  _ want _ to.” Nomura nods, smiling up at her though she has tears in her eyes.

“You will. You  _ will. _ ” She says, pulling Barbara’s hands to her lips and kissing her knuckles. “When you wake from your dreams, meet me here, and we’ll go together,” she says, pulling her hands away from Barbara’s. She realizes then that at some point, Nomura had put the pendant in her hand, the weight of it oddly warm in her palm.

“I don’t want you to go,” she says suddenly, and Nomura’s smile fades. “I want you to stay with me.”

“I don’t want to go either,” she whispers, her hands coming up to cup Barbara’s face. “But you must do this part alone. I’m sorry, my sunflower, but you  _ must _ .”

_ My sunflower. _

Pulling Barbara’s face down closer to hers, Nomura places a kiss on her forehead, and then pulls back once more. They stare into each other’s eyes for what feels not nearly long enough, and Barbara can feel her heart hammering in her chest, the desire to kiss her overwhelming. She leans down to do it then, her eyes fluttering closed as Nomura watches her nervously before she too closes her eyes. Her lips hover over the other woman’s for all but a moment before they hear the sound of large wings flapping nearby. Nomura pulls back sharply, whirling around to look at the source of the noise. A great shadow dawns over the distant treetops, and she swings back around to look at Barbara once more, her eyes panicked.

_ “Run.” _

* * *

It is twilight when Barbara makes it back to the home that she shares with Walter, the pendant tucked away in her pocket, well out of sight. She finds him on the porch, set up at a table with his butcher's block and a knife. As she approaches, he looks up from the rabbit that he's skinning to take in the sight of her. “Welcome home, my darling,” he greets warmly, tugging sharply at the skin and peeling it free from the muscle on the hind legs. She feels a churning in her gut as she looks at the sight, the memory of the rabbit in the thistle spinning around in her mind. “Did you have a nice day?” he asks, pulling the rest of the skin free before reaching for the knife to remove the head. As she looks at the other rabbits waiting to be processed, she notices the large bite marks on them.

She looks back up at Walter, forcing her face into a warm smile. It feels so unnatural now, being pleasant to this man. He had been so kind to her over the years, so doting and caring - but if what Nomura says is true, he is a much more sinister person than she had thought. “Yes, I did,” she replies after an uncomfortable pause, and he watches her curiously before looking back down at the block, positioning the knife at rabbit's neck. “I walked to a part of the woods I had never been to before. It was lovely.” Walter's hand jerks the knife down, and he severs the head with an unpleasant crunch.

She feels nauseous as she hears the sound.

“I do hope you stuck to the trails at least,” he says, moving the knife down to the front legs. “It’s dangerous out there for the likes of us.” He chops down again and severs the small limbs. Barbara feels an unpleasant tingling in her wrists as she watches. He positions the knife over the hind legs, and then pauses, looking up at her. “There are creatures that lurk out there, outside of the safe places we carve out in this world.” He looks back down at the rabbit once more, and with a final chop removes the final set of legs. Her own legs nearly buckle, and she places a hand on the porch railing to hold herself steady. There’s an ominous tone that his voice has tonight, and it makes her gut bubble with anxiety.

“I did,” she lies. “The area was lovely, but I doubt I’ll be wandering there again. I like the valley here too much.” She speaks the words confidently, but still she does not like the foreboding energy that wafts off of him in waves. She pauses, her free hand clenching into a fist. “I’m sorry if I made you nervous, Walter,” she says, and he looks back up at her with a smile.

“It’s quite alright, my dear,” he says, grabbing another rabbit as he smiles at her warmly. “Why don’t you go and wash up, and I’ll make you some supper and then send you to bed.” She nods, smiling back at him before she makes her way past him into the house. Her limbs still feel numb, and the nausea follows her nearly as closely as the tension that she feels coiled inside her.  _ He is not what he seems. _

As she ascends the stairs, she hears a loud  _ thwack _ as he removes the head from the next rabbit.

* * *

Her belly is warm and full when she tucks herself in for the night, but the anxiety that she feels within her has swollen to the point that she is unsure of how she is going to sleep - something that will present a problem, due to the fact that sleeping is what she requires to do as Nomura had told her. Nevertheless, as she slips into her nightgown and holds the pendant in her hand, she tries to remind herself that this is what must be done, that this is what it has to be. She stares down at the surface of the gem, watching the way that its facets glitter in the candlelight.

_ Throw it out. Forget about Nomura, forget about the pendant, forget that any of this ever happened. Be safe and happy with Walter. _

Pushing the thoughts aside, she slides the pendant under her pillow before she blows out the candle and then crawls into bed. As she pulls the blankets over herself and her head hits her pillow, she feels her anxieties begin to melt away, her body molding into the warm bumps and divots of her mattress. The moonlight beams through the window in thin, pale strips, caressing her face as she drifts off. It feels safe, soft in her bed, comfortable in a way that it never has been before. She thinks of Nomura, the feel of her soft skin, the way that the sunlight glinted off of her hair, the way that her sundress clung to her curves. She feels so relaxed, so at ease, so at peace.  _ Zelda. Zelda. Zelda. _ Her bed has become a warm cocoon, comforting and full of something that she knows must be love.  _ Zelda. Zelda. Zelda. _

She is warm. She is relaxed. She is safe. She is asleep.

And then, all at once, she is plunged into dark, cold water.


	5. The Idyllic World (Ranunculus asiaticus iv)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we conclude the first arc of this story. At the beginning here I just want to say thank you for sticking with it so far, and I hope that you enjoy the future arcs as well. That being said, I want to issue a warning. If you've payed attention to the tags on this story (which I hope you have,) you have surely noticed the fact that this story will contain dark elements, particularly related to abuse, sexual assault, and death. Earlier chapters have mostly hinted at these things, but this chapter marks the point at which things take a seriously dark turn. If you find at any point that the content for this chapter is too much for you to handle, I would recommend not tuning in for future chapters, as these themes will be explored more in-depth in subsquent installments.
> 
> Secondly, and on a less grave note, this arc has been longer than I originally intended, particularly with the length of this chapter (it's over 11,000 words.) I considered splitting this one _again_ , but I really wanted all of the events of this chapter to happen back to back. Although I have thoroughly plotted out the rest of the story, I do not have it written out in its entirety and so I do not know if the future arcs will be as long as this one, or if it will follow a similar pattern to this one and have long final chapters. This being the case, the projected chapter count is likely to change again, but I imagine that the final chapter count will be somewhere between the original 25 and the current 36. This arc is the first one of seven, and sets the tone for the rest of the story. The next chapter will be a brief narrative interlude before we continue with the next arc, which will further illuminate the mystery which I am weaving.
> 
> Lastly, I want to thank you again for reading this. This is perhaps the most ambitious fic that I have started, and it's also the one that is the most personally meaningful to me. Aside from the content, it is particularly significant to me because it's the first story that I've known the entire arc of from the onset, and that has kept me consistently excited about it. Your feedback has also been invaluable for keeping me motivated to keep going, and I sincerely appreciate it. If you like this story, please leave a comment and let me know what you liked about it (or what you didn't like.) Hearing from you means the world to me.
> 
> Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

On the first night, Barbara gasps awake, coughing out the icy water from her lungs. As she doubles over, heaving out the liquid, her head spins. This place feels wrong, unnatural - it’s too bright, too cold. A feeling of great sickness takes hold of her, wringing the strength out of her like a rag.  _ This was a mistake. I’m going to die here. _ The panic sets in as breathing becomes harder, the water in her lungs seeming to know no end. She heaves more of it, and more, and more, and then she has nothing left to heave. Coughing, she collapses back into the puddle of water, gasping for air.

Finally, she feels that her lungs are able to take in enough air, and her panic begins to subside. As she at last feels her breath return to normal, her body still shaking from the cold and the effort, she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and dares to look around. She is surrounded by light, the shape of the long corridor she sits in formed only by the faintest of shadows. A fog floats through the air, thick and white, and as she reaches out with her hand she almost loses track of it.

A shudder runs through her body, a side effect of the fear that she can feel gripping her chest.  _ You need to remember to be strong and brave.  _ Nomura’s voice echoes through her mind, and in spite of the fact that she knows that she’s not here, she draws comfort from the memory of her, the very thought of her. There is a connection between them, a power that Barbara  _ knows _ is important. She must find out the truth of it.

Shakily, Barbara rises to her feet, her wet nightgown clinging to her curves in a way that is thoroughly unpleasant, thoroughly cold. She wraps her arms around herself in an attempt to feel warmth again, but she cannot shake the chill that seems to have seeped into her very bones.  _ I must remember. _ The thought comes to her through the fog, and she sees attached to it a thread of light. She pauses, doubt once more tainting her with its presence.

_ Turn back. Go back to Walter. He cannot keep you safe if you run from him. _

_ But he is dangerous. _

_ And who told you that? Nomura? She is but a stranger. _

Reaching out, she threads her fingers through the light, and it twirls around her finger. “Show me,” she whispers, and the light ties itself into a knot around her knuckle. She takes in a deep breath, and then exhales before she starts to walk forward, her feet much more sure than she is. As she walks past the doors that surround her on both sides of the corridor, she hears whispers from behind them, small sounds that she cannot quite comprehend the details of. Some sound soft and kind, others carry in them a kind of menacing tone that sends her stomach turning into knots.  _ What is this place? _

She walks for some time, simply following the thread of light as it gently pulls her forward, towards a point which she cannot yet see. She passes by open doors, shadows in the light dancing beyond them, swaying to their own rhythms, their own stories. She looks curiously as she passes by one that seems full of shapes, all stationary around the center of the room. She cannot make out any of their features, but they all seem to face a figure seated in a great chair, larger than the rest of them, somehow sharper. She feels a chill as she looks at the shape and its dark angles, and pries her eyes away.

The thread continues to pull her forward, much like the way that Nomura had led her through the woods the previous day.  _ I wish she were here, _ she thinks to herself, that anxiety that she feels in her chest blossoming once more. Though she knows not why, the strange woman makes her feel safe, makes her feel warm inside in a way that she's never felt before.

With a sharp tug, the thread seems to change directions, pulling her around a corner. She follows it, eyes squinting as she tries to pick out anything at all through the fog. As she walks down the next corridor, she does not walk for long before the thread tugs her again, pulling her to a doorway on her left. As she stands on the threshold, she pauses, her hand still outstretched.  _ What if this really is a mistake? What if I don't like what I remember? _

_ Be brave. Be strong. _

And so she steps through, chilled to the bone but desperate to know.

The space that she enters seems to be nothing but an endless white void, not even the faintest sound catching her ears. It is eerie, and it sets her on edge. She stands there for what feels much longer than it really is, and as she looks around she can see the fog parting, moving throughout the space and forming shapes. She sees an altar before her, a church forming before her eyes. Figures form in the fog, all seated in pews, whispering amongst themselves. Their voices speak a language that she knows, but cannot process through the fog still clinging to her mind. She shudders again in the cold, wrapping her arms around herself again.

And then, over the sound of the voices, she can hear the beginnings of a tune playing all around them. The figures turn, and all of a sudden she realizes that they're staring at her. She shivers, and as she listens to the song that she recognizes as a wedding march, the faces before her come into view, although they take on no color. She looks down at her hands, and sees in them a bouquet of roses and buttercups - yellow, the only color that she can see.  _ I'm the bride. _ As she looks up, she sees the figure of the groom standing by the altar, and another wave of anxiety rushes through her.  _ I must go. _ Slowly, she puts one foot forward, and then another, and then she can feel her gown moving around her as she walks, and the sound of the music is so clear and so real.

She remembers how it felt. This was the service that  _ he _ wanted, that  _ he _ planned. It had been nice on the day, but she had been so anxious the night before. Even then she knew that it was a mistake - but he had always been so kind to her, so sweet - he only ever meant well. It's hard to feel that way about him now, with the knowledge that the future brings.

_ But we're getting ahead of ourselves. _

She approaches the altar, barely looking at her fiance, instead focussing on anything and everything else - she is far too nervous to look at him. As the priest speaks in a faith foreign to her, his voice sounds distant and garbled as if she is hearing someone through water. Her head moves of its own accord as he slurs out something that sounds like it might be a question, and she looks to the man on her left.

_ James. _

His name cuts through her mind like a gash, and his features swim in a nightmarish swirl before her, something about him so twisted and dark and awful as she says  _ I do _ and then -

\- and then she's in their home, their first home. The wind howls outside as rain whips across the windows, the sky a pallid hue that casts the earth in sickly shades of grey and green. She's on the couch, her belly swollen and her heart hammering, long past the point of impending panic. She’s alone, so terribly alone. She feels another contraction, and she screams out. They’re coming fast and hard now, and her water’s already broken, and the phone line is dead from the storm raging outside, and god, she’s  _ alone. _ She takes a deep breath, and exhales a shudder.  _ You have medical training. You can do this. _ She tries not to think about how her experience is in trauma, not obstetrics, and prepares herself for delivery.

The sounds outside drown out the screaming from within the house, the agony and solitude and fear. Five miles away, a man sits alone in a restaurant booth, staring out the window as an uncaring nature beats her wrath down upon the earth. A waitress comes by and pours him another coffee, which he drinks in contemplative silence, aloof to the drama unfolding elsewhere in the storm.

The eye passes over the new mother about an hour later, and brings with it something that she can barely stomach looking at. The infant is wrapped in towels against her chest and suckling peacefully when her blurry-faced husband arrives, his body cloaked in shadow as the eerie light from outside washes in after him. As he stands there, the droplets of rain begin to increase once more as nature continues her warpath across Osage County. He looks down at the infant, face as unreadable as it is unseeable. She watches him silently, the words caught in her throat. He looks back up at her for a long moment before he closes the door behind him and walks past her towards the stairs. She does not look at him as he goes, but rather stares vacantly at the door, gently rocking her new baby in spite of the exhaustion and emptiness that she feels washing over her. She watches as lighting cracks brightly across the sky in the distance, and the rumble of thunder follows soon after, shuddering the very walls of the house.

And then the door changes, and as it swings open it reveals to her the bright, grey cul-de-sac beyond. The emptiness still follows her here in Arcadia, especially in the wake of the back that she watched walk through that door not an hour ago. She sits on the stairs, her cheeks sticky with dried tears, and she holds herself together with her arms wrapped around her as if it will be enough to keep her from falling to pieces. She can see the sunlight beating down outside although it has no color, and she watches as the light changes and shifts as the sun moves past its zenith. There is no storm here, not anymore. The eye passes over her heart now, the calm before the next phase of devastation that awaits her. She watches as across the street as families arrive home, children and parents collecting into happy little units in their happy little homes. She would blow them all away if she could, throw them into the rising creek and wash away the entire neighborhood in the flood.

And then her child walks in through the front door and looks down at her with eyes full of confusion. The next phase of the storm arrives with that sweet, innocent face, and already she can feel her heart grow heavier as she knows that she will have to explain the devastation of their home, the devastation of their life. She holds out a hand to them while pulling her lips into a weak smile, and then she breaks down into sobs, her body crumpling back in on itself on the bottom step.

* * *

 

 

_ Her eyes flutter open for a moment, and the world around her is blurry. She can hear it shuffling around the room, the creature with the glowing eyes, the thick smell of spice and musty air suffocating her. A warm light flickers in the corner - a candle perhaps - and she watches with an unfocused gaze as a shadow moves across it. She feels her breath catch in her throat, her heart thudding louder. _

_ A hand grasps hers with a soft tenderness, but the skin is wrong, hard and rough like a stone not quite beaten into shape by the riverbed. She can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as its claws graze lightly over her skin, and it lets out a low purr. She hears something dripping in the far corner, droplets of water against rock. _

_ Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, dri- _

_ The sound is washed away by a torrent in her ears, a wave that crashes over her and sinks her back into unconsciousness. _

* * *

 

On the second night, she once more wakes in the white corridor with lungs full of water. As she coughs it out, gasping for air, she looks around with bleary eyes and has a hard time focusing them. Her body feels as if she’s been struck by something large and fast -  _ a semi, maybe?  _ \- and her lungs burn with effort as she tries to get in air. She steadies her breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment as she tries to will away her growing headache, and then looks around again with clearer eyes. She picks out the intricacies made of shadow in the projected space made of light, the barely perceptible grout holding together great stones that seem closer together than they did before. Her limbs feel so weak, so tired, as if she’s been swimming for ages towards a shore that never gets closer, and trying to perceive the shapes around her only cause her to feel even more tired.  _ James. _ She can remember him so clearly now, the sharp angles of his face and the cruel look that his features bore when he left her and their child on their own. Anger creeps up her throat, and she nearly screams as the rage she felt becomes new again. Frustratingly, she feels tears welling up, and she angrily swipes her arm across her eyes.

_ Get up. You’re not done yet. _

Shakily she gets to her feet once more, the fog swirling around her in a pattern that she cannot quite recognize the shape of. She likes this place even less than the first time she awoke her, a great sense of trepidation lingering within her as she takes stock of it.  _ You have to get through.  _ She takes in another deep breath, reaching out until another thread of light comes to her and wraps itself around her finger. It tugs her forward softly, and she follows it as it urges her bare feet across the cold stone below her. She looks forward as she walks, not looking in the doorways as she passes them this time. There is something unsettling about the shadows beyond them, something that she does not yet want to know. As she walks past the room with the worshippers circled around the figure on a throne, she fails to notice that the figure at the center is now absent.

The thread leads her down a different hallway this time, the path much more winding than before. She does not know the magic that is at work here - hell, she barely knows anything of magic at all - but it is unsettling in the way that it seems to hide everything from her. For the first time, she finds herself asking the empty air a question -  _ why? _ Why would Walter need to do such a thing? Why would he hide her own life from her like this? Who is he really?

_ You know what he is. _

With another sharp tug the light pulls her to a doorway on her right, and once more she pauses on the threshold. That feeling of trepidation washes over her again, the fear that has plagued her since the first time that Nomura appeared in the idyllic world. There is a sense of foreboding that hovers above her like a stormcloud the longer she’s in this place, coloring everything that she can see.  It is a difficult thing to question everything that one knows, but she knows that she must.  _ Fear doesn’t matter here.  _ What she remembers of James tells her that Nomura is right, and that she must seek out what is real in a world made of pretty lies.  _ All that matters is the truth. _

Once more, she works up the courage and steps into the space beyond, and as before nothing happens for what feels like a small eternity. Then, the fog molds itself into the shape of a room, a room that she knows is a pretty baby blue, a color that she had picked out from a wall of swatches from a hardware store in Arcadia Oaks some seventeen years ago. She inhales sharply.  _ Seventeen years.  _ Although it is grey now, she  _ knows _ it is that beautiful blue, and as she looks around she sees the familiar pieces of furniture that she had selected - with no input from James, of course - all put perfectly in their place. She had arranged them so lovingly under the direction of a child, placing them exactly where they should be.  _ Everything in its right place, as it should be.  _ She looks towards the desk at one end of the room, and she sees there her son, not more than eleven years old. Lighting strikes once more within her, although none other than her can see it.

Her  _ son. _

_ Jim. _

Her hand instinctively raises up to cover her mouth, choking back a sob.  _ Jim. Oh Jim, my beautiful boy. _ As if he could sense her presence, he raises his head and looks over his shoulder at her, smiling. He has a vase of buttercups on his desk, and the yellow of them shines so bright in this memory, their color bright even in the reflections in his eyes. “Mom!” He gets up and hurries over to her and he wraps his arms around her in a warm embrace, and she can feel him even in this memory. Her hands shake as she wraps her arms around him, at last feeling full though she did not know they were empty. “You're back early,” he says, and she feels a wave of guilt wash over her.

She was always gone, so long and so often. She had chosen her career,  _ and _ she had chosen Jim, but she had never expected that she would have to manage both alone.  _ He deserves better, _ she thinks, the thought crossing her mind as it so often did.  _ He deserves a parent who can be there for him. _ Guilt is nearly suffocating in this place - guilt for not being there as much as she should have, guilt for the fact that he had grown up without a father, guilt that she had  _ forgotten  _ him. The lump in her throat is nearly unbearable, and she squeezes her eyes shut for a long moment as she simply holds him.

At last she pulls back, looking down at her precious son. He smiles up at her warmly, unaware of her inner turmoil, and it nearly breaks her heart to feel such unconditional love from another person. Before she realizes what is happening, time speeds forward and rips him out of her arms, and she can feel panic set in -

\- but then he's there again, fourteen years old, and he's made her dinner after a long shift and she asks what the occasion is and he's vague about it until their bellies are full and she's sleepy, and then he says  _ Mom, I have something I need to tell you, _ and her stomach drops because she remembers saying those same words so many years ago to her own mother and she blurts out  _ are you pregnant _ and he assures her that he's not, but it's really important and he tells her and the next day she picks up a balloon while she’s at the grocery store and it says  _ it's a boy _ in bright colors and Jim laughs and cries when she brings it home. She laughs and cries too and she embraces him and rocks him gently.

Time speeds forward again and it's four years later and he's not made her dinner this time, but it's just the two of them and he sits her down and there's a different kind of anxiety in his voice as he says  _ Mom, there's something I need to tell you. _ He tells her, he tells her about trolls and wizards and the fate of humanity and trollkind, things so outlandish that he clearly expects her to dismiss him, but she already knows the name  _ Gunmar _ when he says it and it’s terrifying because she doesn’t want Jim to get hurt and she  _ knows _ the kind of hurt that Gunmar is capable of. She looks at him now and it’s a young man that’s sitting before her, and she knows that even though he is her  _ son _ , her precious boy that she would protect with her life if she needed to, she knows that she can’t. She can feel tears pricking at her eyes as she reaches out to clasp his hands in hers. He can hardly look her in the eye, and she’s scared -  _ so damn scared _ \- but she needs him to know that she is on his side no matter what and she wants him to be  _ safe. _

But safety is a distant stranger to him now.

She remembers so many cuts and bruises - ones that nearly made her gasp in shock as he revealed them - patching him up when he came home from a particularly difficult hunt in silence. She long ago gave up on scolding him for being careless - he is naught but a fragile human in a world not made for someone like him.

But he’s the chosen. He’s the chosen, and when that wizard comes skulking around she can do her best to beat him back to try to keep her son safe, but she is a fragile human too and there’s only so much that she can do to help him. Whapping that smug old man on the back of the head when he is too far out of line is somewhat satisfying, but she still finds herself sobbing in her bed at night, held tightly by two arms as the hands attached gently stroke her hair and a voice still distant to her hums out soft bars of Grieg.

Time flows faster again until it reaches a day where the sun doesn’t look quite right, a storm of another kind approaching, and when she sees her son again he’s nineteen and standing tall in his armor that glints brightly even in the strange light.  _ Get somewhere safe, _ he tells her, and she asks him what’s going on and he won’t tell her, he won’t  _ tell _ her and she wants to scold him and shake him but he tells her that he has to go, and to stay with Nomura, that she’ll keep her safe.  _ And don’t trust Strickler. _

The name swims in her mind, and though in the past she knew what those words meant, they’re frustratingly garbled to her now.  _ Don’t trust Strickler. _ Jim turns and opens the front door to reveal that strange sunlight, and for a moment he looks like his father and her breath catches in her throat. She watches him, her chest tight, and then she shakes her head to herself.  _ He’s nothing like him. My son is a hero. _ He turns and looks at her over his shoulder, and she can see the moisture pooling at the corners of his eyes.

“I love you, mom.”

* * *

 

 

_ She awakes, but this time she does not open her eyes. Her lids are too heavy, too thick with spice, and as she tries to flutter them open they feel like glue. The world around her spins in nauseating circles, no sense of up or down as she struggles to find the strength to twist her body in the right direction, to find her way to the surface. Among the sound of rushing water and the soft tinkling of chimes, she can hear that low purr that tells her the creature with the glowing eyes is near. _

_ As she hears it, she realizes that she can feel it too - long, slender fingers reach through the thick haze and button up the garment it’s twisted her into, and she wants to slap those hands away but she cannot figure out where they are, where they’re coming from. She hears the whisper of stone fingers through strands as it strokes her hair - a familiar sound - neatly arranging it though she’s tumbling wildly in midair. Somewhere within her, she finds the strength and strikes out at it - but the touch is too soft, and her hand does little more than grasp gently onto what feels like it might be a leg. _

_ She swears that she can hear it chuckle, and then she’s violently pulled back under by a crashing wave. _

* * *

On the third night, Barbara awakes in the corridor with her lungs full of water same as the two nights before, and once she has expelled it she knows where she must go. She shakily brings herself to her feet, takes in a deep breath, and follows the trail of light though she does not need it. The turns that she takes are numerous, far more than the ones before, but so was the journey to their two paths converging. Her steps are confident despite the weakness of her limbs, and they carry her unflinchingly to the door of her fate.

As she arrives before it, the fog parts and frames it so eerily, almost as if this place is acknowledging her journey and daring her to try to take it. It feels like mockery. The door is bolted and locked, but when she reaches out, the image of Nomura floating through her mind, the locks melt away and the door swings open. She does not hesitate this time, and steps through with a confidence that she has not before known. The hallway behind her laughs.

Suddenly she stands inside the waiting room of a clinic, facing a wall of brochures and pamphlets covered in stripes that are grey now in this foggy dreamscape, but she knows they’re adorned in baby pink and blue and white and the more than occasional rainbow. The memory of the anxiety that she felt washes over her, her heart beating faster the longer that she stands in the quiet, the only sounds the occasional keyboard clicking at the reception desk.  _ Perhaps this was rash. _ The thought is the one that had plagued her that entire morning, ever since she made the appointment with the counsellor.  _ No, you should do this. It’s what a good mother would do. _ Reaching out, she hesitantly grabs a pamphlet with the title ‘Families in Transition: Supporting Your Transgender Teen.’  _ Seems applicable. _

The door behind her clicks, and instinctively she looks over her shoulder. Her gaze falls upon a woman exiting out from the door to the right of the reception area, and everything seems to stop.

The thread of light shimmers brightly for a moment as it twirls around her, and then fades.

Her heart is hammering in her chest as she stares, frozen to the spot as if transfixed by a gorgon. The vivid canary of the woman’s sundress bleeds out hues of yellow into the world around her, slowly morphing into the entire spectrum of color until the world is as vibrant as it was in the moment all those years ago. She looks up, her bright green eyes meeting Barbara’s blues, and she swears that her heart stops beating entirely.

She is the most beautiful woman that she has ever seen.

The woman stops, raising her eyebrow while appraising her, and Barbara feels a wave of self-consciousness wash over her as she remembers that she had tied her hair into a messy bun and thrown on some jeans, a quarter-zip, and her birkenstocks before coming down to the clinic. She feels in her gut that this is a momentous occasion, and she is supremely underdressed - but then the woman smirks in a way that is oh so disarming and attractive, and her worries seem to melt away. She begins to walk towards her, shouldering her purse, and Barbara has to remind herself not to just  _ stare _ \- particularly in this venue where things might get misconstrued as gawking. “Dr. Lake,” she greets, and Barbara raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Good morning.”

“Oh- ah- good morning,” Barbara says, feeling another wave of embarrassment as she stumbles over her words. “Oh, I’m uh. I’m sorry - have we met?” The woman laughs, and it’s such a sweet, sweet sound, rich and feminine.

“No, we haven’t,” she says. “I’m colleagues with your kid’s history teacher. He brought the class on a field trip to the museum where I work about a month back. He and I were out on the town about a week ago, and he pointed you out when we saw you passing by.” It takes her a moment to connect  _ history teacher _ to  _ Ralph Strickland, _ (or something of that ilk,) the man who had left her a very vague voicemail about two weeks before.

“Oh, I see. Mr. Strickland? Was that his name?” She asks the question, and the woman smirks in secret amusement.

“Strickler. But yes, that’s the one,” she says. She glances down at the pamphlet in Barbara’s hand, and then looks back at her face. “So what brings you here, if you don’t mind me asking?” She clutches the pamphlet tighter to her chest, looking away from the woman.

“Oh. My um… my… son.” She pauses, unsure of the best way to put it. “I know how to get…” A pause. “... _ him _ to the right doctors, but this all is just a little outside of my scope of personal knowledge, and I want to do what’s best for him.” The woman watches her intently, smiling softly. Feeling awkward, Barbara speaks without thinking. “And you? Do you volunteer here or...?” The woman chuckles again.

“No, I don’t,” she says, leaving room for Barbara to fill in the blanks - which she does, and flushes a bright red.

“Oh my god, that was really personal and insensitive of me, I’m really sorry,” she apologises. “I was just…”  _ Distracted by how beautiful you are? _ “Oh I’m all out of sorts today, I’ll try not to put my foot in my mouth like that again.” The woman laughs again, reaching out and placing a hand on Barbara’s upper arm. The touch is unexpected, electrifying. She shivers.

“It’s okay- really.” She squeezes her arm softly before pulling her hand back, and Barbara finds herself wishing that she would touch her again. “It’s good that you’re doing right by your son. Not enough parents are like that.” She feels a swell of warmth in her chest, her heart beating just a little bit faster as the woman speaks. The woman reaches into her purse, rifling around until she finds a small metal business card case. Barbara watches as she pulls a card out, holding it out to her. “If you ever need any pointers on how to be a good ally, give me a call.” 

Taken aback, Barbara blinks stupidly for a moment before she looks down, and then reaches out for the card. Their fingers brush as she takes it, and she feels the heat rising in her cheeks again. As she looks at the card, she reads the name, already testing it out in her head.

_ Zelda Nomura, Ph.D. _

“Thank you,” she says, looking back up at the woman.  _ Zelda. _ “Dr. Nomura, is it?” Another laugh sweeter than honey.

“Zelda is fine,” she says, and then leans forward conspiratorially. “I hope to see you soon, Barbara.”

And then, Zelda is moving past her out the door, and she takes the color with her. Barbara watches her go, and suddenly time seems to fast forward, speeding through the following months at a nauseating pace as it all comes back to her in flashes of color across her greyscale memories.

She sees the meeting at the coffee shop where Zelda placed her hand on hers and she knew for certain that there was a spark there. She sees the lunch the next day where they miraculously had breaks in their days at the exact same time. She sees the dinner the following night where they laughed and talked for ages and then Barbara drove her home and Zelda looked nervous and didn’t invite her in as she abruptly got out of the car. She sees the day a week later when Barbara was driving past while she saw her running in the rain while holding a newspaper over her head and so she pulled over and offered her a ride home and this time Zelda  _ did _ invite her in and the front door had barely latched before Barbara had her pressed against the wall and she kissed her senseless while she tangled her fingers in her midnight black, rain-soaked hair.

More lunch dates, more dinner dates, more and more time spent in color with her, her beautiful features glowing so magnificently in the sunlight as they sit outside of the cafe that they always go to.  _ His name is Walter, actually, _ Zelda laughs as she passes through the memory.  _ And he’s an idiot. _ Introducing her to Jim for the first time as  _ Zelda, my girlfriend, _ and Zelda laughing and saying it makes her feel like a highschooler to be called someone’s  _ girlfriend, _ but she isn’t complaining.

The first time that love found them arrives, and time slows down just enough for her to see it.

_ I love you, _ she had whispered against Zelda’s lips as they lay together in the tangled sheets on a Friday afternoon while Jim was still at school and neither of them had anywhere else to be, and it was the only time she had ever been so sure of anything. Barbara’s heart hurts now as she watches herself, sees the love in her own eyes.  _ You don’t have to say it back, but I want you to know. _ There had been something nervous, something sad in the way that Zelda smiled, and she didn’t say it back but she kissed Barbara and pulled her back on top of her. Two days later she met Barbara at the hospital for her lunch break in a pretty purple dress and she wordlessly shoved an envelope in her hands and Barbara opened it and it was a three-page letter both cynical and hopeful that confirmed in absolutely no uncertain terms that Zelda too loved Barbara, and when she looked up from the letter she saw her watching with her face beet red and her arms crossed uncomfortably across her chest.

_ Well, there it is, _ she said as if there was any question in either of their minds that this was meant to be, and Barbara reached out and pulled her in for a kiss, and Nomura kissed her back.  _ I love you too, _ she had whispered against her lips, and Barbara smiled.

Time speeds forward again, through birthdays and holidays and exhibit openings and Jim’s first injection and dinners with the three of them and Nomura’s hand in Barbara’s and then there’s the night where she awoke to the sight of glowing green eyes staring across the bed at her, and Nomura turned on the light and she saw everything, the teeth, the legs, the skin, and then Nomura  _ told _ her everything, trolls and Gunmar and the Darklands and how she had defected and how things were better now, how the war was over but she wanted her to know the truth because their life spans don’t match and Nomura is going to watch her grow old and die and she’s the first human that she’s ever wanted to stay with, to  _ be _ with. Barbara takes it in stride, better than Nomura thought, because as soon as she touches the changeling’s face and tells her that she loves her for  _ all _ of her, that she wants to share the rest of her life with her, Nomura breaks down and Barbara holds her and strokes her long hair (each strand coarser as a troll than as a human) as she cries and cries and cries.

_ You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, inside and out, and I’m willing to bet you’re the most beautiful troll too. _

The only other time that she remembers Nomura ever crying is when Barbara toiled with Jim in the kitchen all day to make something edible (approaching good, even,) and as Nomura laughed and smiled and cut into the cake, her knife hit a ring and then Barbara took a deep breath and poured her heart out, told her the truth that she had never loved anyone like she loved Nomura, that she had brought a new light into her life - and into Jim’s - and she wanted Nomura to be with them for the rest of their natural lives and would she marry her? The changeling had been frozen to the spot, terrified and shaking, and then she said yes and Barbara put the ring on her finger and she cried, burying her face in her hands.

“Who knew that Nomura was such a big softie?”

“Shut up, Little Gynt.”

Barbara feels tears on her own cheeks as she watches time move past her - fast, so  _ fast _ \- through wedding plans and Jim’s high school graduation and lazy Sunday mornings when Barbara had the day off, kissing Nomura softly and running her fingers along her cheek and pressing her face into her hair and smelling her shampoo and something earthy and pleasant.  _ I love you. _ It came so easy to them, a simple statement of truth that had yet to lose its sweetness.  _ I love you. _ In those moments shared, they had all of the time in the world.

Then, things slow down again when the sun is strange in the sky and the air is thick with a sense of doom. Jim’s gone, and she’s packed a bag - mostly with medical supplies - and Nomura bursts in out of breath and shaking and eyes wild, and she reaches out with one arm to pull Barbara into a tight hug while the other hangs limply at her side. She holds here there for a moment while she catches her breath, and Barbara pulls back. “Zelda, what’s - oh my god your shoulder.”

“It’s nothing,” she hisses, and then grabs her upper arm and pops it back into alignment, barely wincing. Barbara flinches, grimacing.

“Hey, stop that,” Barbara scolds. She knows that there’s something about Nomura’s body that makes it susceptible to bones popping out of sockets and that she’s perfectly capable of putting herself back into alignment, but as a trained medical professional she doesn’t like watching it happen. “Let me take a look at you,” she says, reaching out to gently grasp her upper arm, but her fiance pulls it back sharply.

“No time for that,” she says, grabbing Barbara by the shoulders. “Barbara, you have to listen to me.” Nomura’s voice is urgent, and it nearly makes the fear in her chest bubble over. It’s been threatening to take over since she watched Jim leave and the sky slowly change, but she had managed to hold it back. Now, seeing the love of her life look so scared chills her to the very bone. “You need to leave Arcadia, get to safety.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a charm and holds it out to her. “There’s a safe house about 70 miles east of here - I need you to go there, and I need you to  _ hide _ .”

“What? Are you  _ crazy? _ I can’t just leave when you and Jim are-”

“Don’t argue with me, Barbara - not this time,” she interrupts, grabbing Barbara’s hand and placing the charm in it. “It’s not safe for humans here, and that goes doubly for you.” She stares down at her fiance, eyes wide. “If they can’t get Jim, they’re going to come after you next. Gunmar may not be that underhanded himself, but he has plenty of trolls around him that  _ are, _ and I can’t allow you to be at risk like that.” She curls Barbara’s fingers over the charm, and holds her hand there. “This charm will lead you the right way. You have to go  _ now. _ ” Barbara feels tears welling up in her eyes.

“No! No, I’m  _ not _ leaving you  _ or _ Jim!” She exclaims, shaking her head.

“Yes, you are!” Nomura snaps, eyes glinting dangerously bright in the darkening sunlight. She glances behind her in alarm as she catches sight of the lengthening shadows, and then turns back to Barbara. “I’ll protect your son - and myself - but if you stay here you’re just going to be in the way.” Her words feel like a slap in the face, but she knows that she’s right. Barbara shudders, fist clenching tighter around the charm in her hand.

“I don’t want to leave you behind,” she says, her voice quieter this time. “I can’t lose you, not when I’ve only just found you.” Nomura’s gaze softens, and she reaches up to place a hand on her fiance’s cheek. There’s a smile on her face, but she can’t quite manage amusement.

“You’re so fucking cheesy,” Nomura says, and in spite of the dire situation Barbara laughs, a tear escaping down her cheek. Leaning up, the changeling presses her lips to Barbara’s, holding her in a kiss as they both close their eyes. Barbara’s brow furrows and she holds back a sob as she holds Nomura tightly, feeling such overwhelming fear as she kisses her. Far too soon, the kiss is over, and Nomura presses their foreheads together and strokes her thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear. “Nothing in the world can keep us apart, my sunflower,” she whispers, gently nuzzling the tips of their noses together. “We’re going to make the world safe, and then we can get on with living our life together.” Barbara lets out a shuddering breath, nodding as she feels more tears escaping down her face. As they open their eyes, the shadows are everywhere and Nomura’s eyes gleam bright green in the dark.

In the distance, they hear a roar, and Barbara’s heart nearly stops. Nomura pulls away and steps back, changing into her true form as she does so. Her polished stone hand holds Barbara’s for all but a moment before it slips free, and she too is walking out of the front door. She stops in the doorway and is about to speak when they hear a thunderous crash and another roar, and instead she pulls free her khopeshes and sprints away into the trees. Barbara stares after her, suddenly feeling so very, very empty again. She sees outside of herself again, seeing the way that she stands so despondent, mournful, seeing the shadow that she casts against the wall. How very sad she had been, how fearful. In the present, Barbara wipes away another tear, allowing her gaze to look away from herself.

And then she sees the glowing eyes lurking in her shadow, fixated on her form in the memory. Barbara feels fear grip her in its icy hand, and the hair on her arms raises in alarm as she picks out the dark figure towering behind her, slender and tall, yellow eyes with red slits for pupils. Without blinking, those red slits turn suddenly and look at her in the present, and before she can scream she is once more plunged into cold water.

* * *

Barbara awakes in the bright place one last time, and as she coughs up water and regains her breath, her body deteriorates into sobs. The emotions long forgotten wash over her, and she curls into herself, her body shuddering as she weeps.  _ Zelda. Oh Zelda, my love, my everything. Jim, my dearest son, my sweet boy. _ Her fingernails dig into her arms as she holds herself tightly, letting out an anguished cry. There is still so much that she can feel is missing, still just beyond the tips of her outstretched fingers. She wants so desperately to reach into the past and pluck free those precious memories, to pull them back into her and make herself whole once more, but the magic is so strong and she is not powerful enough to get through on her own.

She shudders and sobs on the cold stone of the floor, white gown clinging wetly to her miserable form. Her heart hurts more than she could possibly have imagined, a pain so consuming that she feels as if her very soul has been ripped from her chest.  _ What has he done? And why? _ Walter is so vague in her memories, something dark lurking on the periphery - and yet here he looms so large.  _ For what purpose is any of this? _

As her breathing evens out once more, her tears no longer flowing as steadily as they had been, she opens her eyes and looks around her. The hallway made of light is as bright as it has been the last three times she’s awoken here, but the fog that had slowly lifted has returned once more, settling as a thick blanket hovering just above her head. This place feels wrong - more so than it did before. It feels warm and muggy, stifling in the humidity. Her chest feels heavy as she sits up, squinting as she tries to peer through the fog. She sees nothing at first, just the same thick white that has consistently obscured her vision. Nervousness creeps across her skin as she looks, the space here somehow even more eerily silent than it had been before.

_ Something is here. _

The awareness dawns on her rather suddenly, and her heart beats a little faster as she squints harder, trying to see something - anything. There is nothing but empty whiteness all around her, nothing but the fog.

And then, two glowing eyes blink open, so bright that they cut through the fog, and she holds back a scream. They look straight at her, and she watches as they narrow into furious slits. She hears a footstep, quickly followed by another, and she scrambles to her feet. She begins to run in the opposite direction of the eyes, moving as quickly as she can though her limbs feel weighed down. The footsteps follow behind her, not running but not getting any further away, and she looks behind her to find that the eyes are still following her, a dark outline starting to take shape through the mist. The terror she feels cuts through her, a cold knife down her back, and she runs faster and faster but to no avail.

_ Am I going to die here? _ She nearly wants to laugh at the irony of it all - a prisoner for who knows how long, and now that she knows the truth she’s going to be killed. It’s tragic, really. As she runs, she feels her hair start to float around her as if in water, and her eyes grow wide. It feels familiar, running in this way, her legs betraying her as she tries to escape. A memory tingles at the edge of her mind, trying to work its way in, but the fog is too thick. It’s so bright, but she cannot see anything except for the outline of the creature that pursues her, and she pushes the thought away as she sprints blindly.

She runs. She runs. She runs, and she feels the tips of claws catching on her nightgown, tearing the fabric ever so slightly.

And then she falls over a ledge that she does not see, and careens downward back into the idyllic world.

* * *

As she opens her eyes, she sees Walter seated beside her bed, squeezing out a washcloth into a shallow basin. She watches silently as he squeezes out the excess moisture and then refolds the cloth into a narrow rectangle, fingers deft and skilled. His face is so grave when he does not know that she is watching, something serious and haunting about his features. It makes sense to her, with what little she now knows of him. He turns and meets her gaze, his bright green eyes so similar to Nomura’s, and yet so different. His mouth twists into a smile that wrinkles the skin on the outside corners of his eyes, but she can see that the emotion is a false one.

_ I see you, _ his gaze seems to say, and hers says it right back.  _ I fucking see you. _

“Good morning, darling,” he says, folding the washcloth once more so that it forms a square. “Are you feeling better?” He asks the question, and she pauses, taking stock of how she feels.  _ Show nothing. Betray nothing. _

“Yes,” Barbara says after a moment, remembering to smile softly at him. “I had a bad dream is all.” The corner of his mouth twitches, nearly imperceptibly.

“Oh my dear, it was more than that,” he says as he reaches out and pats her forehead with the cloth. Her heart skips a beat. “You’ve been sick for three days.” She inhales sharply.  _ Three days? _

“Wow,” she breathes out, smiling nervously. “Well, I feel right as rain now.” He laughs a little bit, wiping the cloth over her cheeks before moving it onto her neck, gaze following along with his hand. She feels goosebumps on her arms. “As a matter of fact, I’m ready to get up and run a marathon,” she chuckles, and his eyes flit back to hers. She swallows, forcing herself to keep smiling.

“Let’s not be hasty, my dear,” he says, returning his attention to sliding the cloth across her collarbone. She wants to swat his hand away, her body growing tense with every movement. She forces herself to be still. “I’ll get you cleaned up, get you some food, and then we can see how you’re feeling after that.” He wipes the cloth over the top of her breasts, and she lays frozen. He looks back up at her, a challenge in his eyes. Returning her attention to what he had said, she gives him a tense smile and nods. He smiles. “Good.” She thinks that that’s the end, that he’ll get up and leave her be so he can prepare a meal for them, but then he brings up his other hand and begins undoing the buttons on the front of her nightgown. Barbara can feel her heart hammering again.

“Ah, Walter? What are you-”

“You sweated through your gown, I’m going to wipe you down before changing you,” he says by way of explanation, his fingers moving far more quickly than she had thought they would as he deftly undoes button after button on her bodice, exposing her cleavage. As he begins to peel aside the fabric, she suddenly grabs his hand and holds it, preventing any further disrobing. He looks back up at her, his eyes bright and piercing. She shudders, but does not dare look away from him.  _ I see you. _

Suddenly, Walter leans down and covers Barbara’s mouth with his, kissing her with frightening ardor. She makes a muffled sound, shoulders pulling up to her ears as she tries to shrink herself away from him.  _ Relax. Relax. Relax. _ She exhales sharply through her nose, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels his short stubble scraping across her chin.  _ You can’t make him suspicious. You can’t. _ She tries to calm herself, to simply acquiesce to the intrusion of his mouth on hers, but then he’s dropped the wash cloth and she can feel his hand pulling up the blankets and then his fingers are sliding over her knee, underneath her nightgown. She feels furious with herself at the unwilling spike of arousal that his action provokes in her, his other hand pulling free from hers and pulling back her bodice to reveal her breast. She moans against his mouth in displeasure, but he is undeterred as he pries apart her thighs, slipping his hand further and further up.

His fingers graze across her pubic bone, and Barbara snaps. With a sharp shove, she pushes him away from her, gasping and catching her breath as she shrinks back down onto the bed, instinctively clapping her legs shut and covering her breasts with her arms. She stares at him as he looks down at her with a bewildered look on his face, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide as he stares.  _ Oh god. _ She knows that she messed up, that she should have been gentler about it - but she had wanted him to  _ stop. _ Was it not the right thing to do? She does not know what follows next as they stare at each other, taking in shallow breaths, and it is after a few more moments of tense silence that she remembers her voice. “I’m sorry,” she says, forcing sincerity into her tone. “I think I’m still a little too worn out from my illness.” It’s a thin excuse, and he seems to think so too as he stares at her, his expression hardening. He forces a polite smile onto his lips, but she can see that it is far from genuine.

“It is quite alright, my love,” he says, wiping his hands on his trousers. He stands up, and she tries hard not to look down at his groin although it is now the part of him that is eye-level with her. “I’ll go make us some food. Come down when you’re ready.” With that, he turns and walks out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

She exhales the breath that she had been holding, and with shaky hands pushes her nightgown back over her legs.  _ I have to move fast. _

And she does. Within moments, she's on her feet and rifling around her room, pulling together the clothes that seem the most useful for long journeys. As she pulls on a pair of well worn but sturdy jeans, it occurs to her that she really wishes she had a medical kit. That’s the sort of thing that she had packed when she was preparing for that coming darkness, and she wishes she could pack it now. She thinks of that day and as she does she remembers Zelda, the kiss they had shared, her heart aching in the sweetest way. She folds a sweater and shoves it into her bag, smiling to herself as she does so. She does not know how long the journey will be, or how dangerous, but she knows that this is how she is going to become free, how she is going to get back to Nomura and her son and how she’ll remember everything, and they’ll have a beautiful life together like they wanted. She shoves a couple of books into her bag too, just for good measure.

Barbara’s dressed, her boots are on, her bag is packed, and as an afterthought she goes back to her pillow and reaches underneath it to pull out the pendant. She feels a sense of relief as her fingers close around the stone, and she pulls it out. She pauses for a moment to look at it, seeing a swirling light drifting lazily through the stone, and then puts it in her bag too.  _ Now comes the tricky part. _ Pressing her ear to the door, she listens to the sounds downstairs. She can hear Walter moving through the kitchen, the clank of pans and the sound of sizzling reaching up the stairs. Cautiously, she opens the door and peers down the stairs. She does not immediately see him, and surmises that he must be at the stove. She knows that the back door is going to be the easiest way to get out undetected, and after steeling herself she slowly begins her descent down the stairs. It is a lucky thing that Walter maintains the house well, because the steps don’t make a sound as she moves slowly and carefully down them, eyes scanning for the him all the while. As she reaches the third step up from the landing, she peers around the corner and sees him there, standing at the stove as she had imagined he would be. His back is turned to her as he diligently stirs something on the stove, and she knows that now is her chance.

Moving quickly but quietly down the last few steps, she nearly flies around the corner out of sight of the kitchen, and moves towards the back door. She can hear his footsteps again, and her heart leaps in her throat until she looks and realizes that he’s crossed to the sink. Returning her attention to the door, she reaches out, twists the knob, and opens the door just enough for her to slip through. As it closes behind her, she feels relief for a moment before she reminds herself that she needs to get away quickly before he notices that she’s gone. Looking up at the cottage for one last time, she’s surprised at how wistful she feels about leaving her prison. Pushing the thought from her mind, she turns forward once more and moves quickly and quietly towards the trees.

It’s late afternoon as she sets out, the sun hovering just above the treeline before its inevitable descent. She was always so fearful of the night here, but now she knows that it will be the thing that saves her.  _ I’m coming, Nomura. _ She traces her path back the way that she had gone the previous day, the glen that she now thinks of at  _ theirs _ , and as she climbs to the apex of the other side she stops before continuing on the trail. She surveys the scene, looking at the way that they had gone the day before. Although they had picked their way through a trail that had not been formed by the passage of thousands of footsteps over time, she can still see exactly the way they went. Her heart swells as she thinks of how she will soon be with her, how she will be able to hold her in her arms and kiss her and tell her how very much she means to her.

With steady feet, Barbara moves down the hill, following the trail. Her footfalls are sure, and as she moves she tries not to think about how it was all far too easy.  _ There will be difficult things on our journey, I’m sure, _ she thinks, landing at the even plateau before the tunnel of trees. The woody titans loom large above her as she approaches, their limbs alive with the sounds of gentle creatures as they had been the day before. As she reaches the tree line, the last few rays of sunlight begin to fade below the horizon. She feels a twinge of anxiety, but pushes it away. There is no room for fear right now.

She enters into the tunnel of trees, moving more quickly now as the ground evens out, fewer obstacles in her path. Her heart rate is up as she moves, determined to get to their meeting place before night falls. In this twilight, the world seems so much more eerie, but she tries so very hard not to think about it.  _ Now is not the time to be dissuaded. _ She passes by patches of thistle, their thick, dark green leaves and spines seeming more overgrown than they had before, the ground around them more disturbed as if by footfalls. She inhales, and pulls her gaze away. Her shadow is nearly engulfed by those of the trees around her now, and she realizes that the sun has set much sooner than expected, darkness falling upon the world rather swiftly. She slows for a moment, looking up to see the full moon slowly peeking up over the tops of the trees, the sight of it giving her pause.  _ This isn’t right. _ It isn’t, but she has to keep going. She  _ has  _ to.

Barbara continues to walk a little bit faster now, and the moon itself seems to keep pace with her. The sounds of the woods are darker now, deeper as the creatures of the night come out to prowl through the trees.  _ It’s just a trick, this is meant to frighten me, _ she thinks, shaking her head.  _ I’m escaping and he’s trying to stop me. _ Instead of further ruminating on that, she reminds herself of the things that she has remembered, the peaceful happy times with the family that she’s pieced together. She thinks of Jim and his sweet smile, boyish and earnest, a star that shines brighter than all others. She thinks of Zelda, Nomura, the duality of her and how she brings so much light into their lives, so much love, so much peace. She can feel tears pricking at her eyes, but they are happy ones this time. She can have it all - and she  _ will _ have it all.

Then, as she moves around a bend, she comes to an immediate halt. Before her is a thing which she has never seen here in this world, something large and metal and gnarled, moonlight glinting brightly off the top of it. She stares at it, trying to make sense of it. Rather suddenly, she remembers that it’s a car. Her stomach drops.  _ Why is there a car here? _ It is a question that she cannot answer, and certainly not from a distance. Slowly, she begins walking again, cautious in her approach. As she gets closer, she sees that one of the tires is popped, hanging from the wheel loosely. A nervous feeling creeps up her neck, and it grows into a sense of panic as she looks along the back door and sees huge gashes along it, the front door hanging limply open on one hinge. She almost stops again, fear gripping her tightly, but she knows that she must look.

She approaches the front door, and ever so slowly peers into the driver’s seat. Her gut twists as she sees it soaked with something dark, almost black in the thin light, glowing swirls of gold twirled through it. She allows her backpack to slip from her shoulder and grabs the strap with her hand, bending down slightly. Before she realizes what she’s doing, she reaches out with a trembling hand and touches the spot, shuddering as she feels the cold moisture against her skin. Pulling her hand back, she looks at it in the moonlight and sees the deep red blood on her hand glow golden in the moonlight. Her heart is in her throat, and as she stands there, staring down at her hand, she realizes rather suddenly that the trees around her are silent. The quiet creeps up the back of her neck, not even the faintest sound of a light breeze or a distant goblin chortling reaching her.

She freezes to the spot, intuition telling her that she is not alone. She looks past her hand, towards the ground. First, she notes the blood trail that leads from the car down the path, an ominous thing on its own. And then, she sees the shadow that the moonlight casts - her, the car, and a creature perched on top of it.

She holds her breath, eyes wide, and ever so slowly she turns her head towards where she knows the figure will be. As she looks, her gaze meets two glowing eyes, yellow with red slits, less than two feet away from her. Every hair on her body raises, every muscle tenses, and she stares at the creature as it curls its vulture’s maw into a grin. It looks down at her, eyes turning to look at the golden blood on her hands. Instinctively, she squeezes her hand shut to hide the blood. It meets her gaze again, purring out a low chuckle. “No use in trying to hide it, little thief,” it purrs in a voice that sounds so terribly familiar, a voice like that of a man that she once knew. “You’re in my domain, and I see through you.”

Barbara stares at the Fairybird King, slowly releasing a shaky breath. “I apologize for intruding, your highness,” she whispers. “I was just passing through, and I promise to leave at once.” His grin widens, and he turns his head slightly, more moonlight caressing the sharply angled stone features of his face, glinting off of his sharp tusks and his backward swept horns. He looms over her in his crouch, and even compacted she can see that he is large.

“Oh, you’ll leave,” he purrs, stretching out a hand. She follows his movements with her eyes only, too afraid to turn her head as he brushes the backs of his long, clawed fingers softly against her cheek. “You’re going to run like you always do, and then I’m going to kill you.”  _ Like I always do? _ The thought begs to be addressed, but she does not have time for that, not when the situation is so dire. She looks back into his eyes, staring at them for a long moment. He tilts his head expectantly, and pulls his hand back ever so slightly.  _ Now. _ She swings her bag, hitting him across the face as hard as she can before releasing it, grateful that she had thought to pack those books. He grunts as it makes contact with him, flinching away, and she takes that opportunity to sprint down the path, following the trail of blood. She hears nothing, but then she sees a long, long shadow engulfing her own, something huge and angular.  _ I must run. I must run faster. _

She runs and runs and runs, lungs burning and legs burning and mind burning.  _ I must not fall this time. I cannot. I absolutely cannot. _ She pumps her legs as hard as she can, urging herself to take longer strides, more of them, the time between footfalls growing shorter and shorter as she moves as fast as she possibly can.  _ I have to run. I have to run. I have to get to Nomura. I have to get to Zelda. _ She runs past a twisted corpse, and she barely has time to process anything about it other than  _ human _ as she goes past, pushing away the jolt of fear.  _ I have to go. I have to go. I have to go. _ The great shadow looms larger and larger, engulfing her and blotting out the moon.

The trees begin to thin, and all of a sudden she sees the valley that Nomura had brought her to and she skids to a halt just before she goes toppling over it. She whirls around, looking for Nomura, absolutely any sign of her, but she realizes with a sinking feeling that she is alone. Chest heaving, she turns, and is met by the sight of the Fairybird King standing right before her, looming at least two feet taller than her, his great wings outstretched. A great obelisk reaches into the sky behind him, so dark and so enormous that it blots out the moon.  _ Oh. _ She gasps as he reaches out suddenly, gripping her by the neck with one of his taloned hands. The temperature around them seems to drop, a cold air picking up around them and chilling her. His breath comes out in a fog as he grins humorlessly.

“Better luck next time.”

With his other hand he swipes a diagonal line from her hip to her breast, and she feels a sharp pain. Vision blurring, she looks up at his raised hand, and sees in it a feather shaped blade glinting red in the little bit of moonlight left.  _ Ah. I see. _ The thought flows through her and out of her, and her trembling hands go to the wound on her gut. She feels more than she expected, things spilling out that she hadn’t thought she would ever lose, and she knows that there is absolutely no way she will survive it.  _ A sharp blade with a deep cut. _ She looks at his eyes again, and she thinks that she recognizes disappointment in his gaze. She nearly smirks, but instead weakly coughs out a spittle of blood.  _ Cleft in twain. _

As he releases her neck, she topples off of the edge, and she is long dead before she hits the water below.


	6. The Sanctum (First Interlude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the interlude. Thanks for reading!

A soft tune plays over the gramophone, a tinny echo against the warm red-brown walls of the room. A man with neatly styled greying dark hair walks in slow, steady circles around the center, eyes fixed on a hefty tome that he carries in his hand. As he walks, he scans through page after page, his pace even as he absorbs the knowledge laid out before him. It’s his usual occupation during what were once the daylight hours, preferring the solitude afforded to him as the trolls desiring his attention sleep. He himself sleeps so rarely these days, preferring instead to read, to study, to prepare. He takes another slow step, and then raises his hand up to delicately turn the page. The manuscript is written in a dialect of trollish long forgotten by nearly all but those who still regularly use it, namely high-ranking Janus agents and the more academically inclined members of Gunmar’s inner circle. Luckily for him, he is both, and his knowledge of the dialect is as vast as his collection of books written in it.

As he walks past one of the shelves, lined floor to ceiling with jars, an angry pixie slams its body against the glass. The man does not even bother looking up at it, knowing full well that the jar is slotted in perfectly behind its bar and is immovable by such a tiny body. He passes by the desk next as he walks in his reverie, a surface cluttered with books and papers and strange dark artifacts, as well as a name plaque that reads  _ Walter Strickler _ \- a memento from a time when the Trollhunter lived and the sun still shone above the earth. He feels nothing as he moves past it, as it is simply a relic of a world now lost, trampled to dust by feet more powerful and terrible than any human could ever have imagined - more terrible than even Merlin had known.

The man pauses, turning to look at his desk. His gaze falls upon a chess piece, a little thing made of stone, finely polished and placed deliberately next to the name plaque. Closing the tome that he holds, he reaches out and plucks the piece from the desk, turning it over in his hand. A knight, white, and with only the tiniest sliver of stone missing from its mane. He looks at it for a long time, ruminating on the sentimentality of it. He had no one to play chess with, and so he had allowed his old chess set to be pulverized and destroyed by Gumm-Gumms too boorish to find better ways to spend their time - but he had saved this lone piece.

He doubts that anyone would be able to catch the deeper meaning behind this  _ particular _ white knight should they somehow find their way past his traps and into his hidden sanctum, but he feels a twinge of fear at the thought of this secret being discovered. It is a special thing, a private thing, and he does not want to share it. Closing his hand around it, he sets his book down on top of the stack where it teeters dangerously for a moment before stabilizing, and then makes his way across the room to a painting hanging on the wall. He barely glances at the painting as he pulls on the side, revealing the hidden shelf behind it.

Placing the knight in an empty spot on the top shelf, he runs his fingers over the front edge before allowing them to touch the lid of a jar on the middle shelf. Picking up the jar, he holds it in the light for a moment, looking at the small object rattling around inside. He shares a private smile with himself as he shakes it a little bit, watching as a flake of dried blood falls off of the object. He holds up his empty hand, looking at his own fingernails, and thinks to himself that the nail is so terribly small compared to his own, so delicate - and yet it had fought so hard.

Placing the jar with the nail back on the shelf, he fusses over positioning it just right, making sure that it is exactly where it is supposed to be. It is as he adjusts it that the candlelight flickers across another object on the shelf, and his gaze darts over to it. The ring sits tipped diagonally, the trollish letter on it facing forward and catching the light. Even here, beyond all the wards and spells that circle this place, there is still a faint and ominous glow that halos it. The man slowly runs his fingers along the shelf again, towards the ring. He is about to pluck it from the shelf when a sharp scream cuts through the room, over the sound of the gramophone. He stills, eyes darting over to the hidden door across the room. Another scream sounds out, and he lets out a sigh. As he closes the compartment,  _ Saturn Devouring His Son _ falls back into its place of shielding his treasures from sight.  _ I do wish she would be more quiet, _ the man thinks to himself as he crosses the room, pulling out a latch to open the hidden room.

As he steps inside, he glances back at the Goya which guards his treasures for a moment before he shuts the door behind him, closing out the candlelight from inside. The record continues to play softly, uninterrupted by any further cries, and it plays out a waltz that bounces prettily against the stone walls.


	7. The Night Market and the Fairybird King's Offerings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the fairytale to start off the next arc. I'm afraid I'm running late on getting back to work so I can't write a longer author's note on this one, but I'll see you soon for the next chapter! Thanks for reading!

Once upon a time, in a world much like ours was a long time ago, there lived A Maiden and The Husband in a little cottage on the outskirts of a rain-soaked town. Their cottage was humble, but it was comfortable and they had no complaints for they had enough food and they had each other for company.

Each morning in their cottage was much the same as one would expect, with the two of them breaking their fast together and chatting idly before The Husband left to do his work and A Maiden went to the Night Market to collect offerings for the Fairybird King to leave on his altar.

One day, after The Father left to go about his business, A Maiden went to the Night Market to collect an offering. As she walked through the various stalls manned by the shadow beasts, she bought various goodies The Husband had sent her to get with the coins in her pocket - an apple tart, a pouch of runestones, and a bottle of fairybird dust barely the size of her middle finger bone. She was nearly done with her shopping when she looked down the end of the row and saw an unfamiliar stall, one where the shadows behind danced vibrantly against the screen. The Husband had warned her in the past of unfamiliar stalls in the Night Market, but she could not push away her curiosity.

As she approached the stall, she was greeted by a boisterous voice booming her way. “Hello, little maiden!” The voice shouted, jovial and friendly. “Step right up to see a show that will wonder and delight you!” A Maiden stepped forward with a curious smile, watching as the shadows danced into new shapes across the screen, little creatures in their castles.

"What do you sell here?" The Maiden asked, addressing the largest shadow behind the screen.

"I sell stories! Stories of the past, and stories of the future!" The voice boomed, and the smaller shadows danced and twirled around in a great circle. "For just three golden coins, I can tell you a story which will predict events not yet come to pass!" The Maiden stared at the shadows in awe, and then rummaged around in her pouch to find three gold coins. But alas! She had none, for she had spent her coins already on offerings for The Fairybird King!

"Alas!" She cried. "I would love a story, but I have no coins to offer you!" Disappointed, she began to walk away before the voice called out to her once more, stopping her.

"Fret not, my dear, for I will give you a taste of my stories - free of charge!" She turned back around, her sweet face lit up with joy.

"Oh, would you?" She asked, delighted.

"I would! Come, enter my theater and I will show you." A curtain on the side of the stall opened up, and a shadow on the wall beckoned her in. Excited to see the show, The Maiden wasted no time entering, and upon moving into the stall she saw that the space inside the stall was as large as a ballroom, the kind that she had heard about in stories.

"Amazing!" She exclaimed as a shadow danced over to her, taking her basket and her cloak while another ushered her over to a seat before a grand, colorful stage. "How did you fit all of this in here?" The voice simply laughed.

“A Magician never reveals his secrets!” A Magician said, the largest shadow sweeping its arm in a grand gesture. "Prepare to be dazzled and amazed!" As the voice boomed out, the shadows took their place on stage, swirling around in intricate patterns which The Maiden could barely comprehend with her human eyes. And then, the lights dimmed until only the stage was illuminated, and a single figure of a princess stood at the center.

"There once was A Princess who lived in a cottage by the woods, and an inn in a town, and a treehouse in the forest, and a castle in the sky." One by one, the scenes formed in the shadows before her, the scenery changing around a single image of a princess. "A Princess was very lonely, having no friends, no companions that stayed in her life."

"How tragic!" The Maiden said under her breath, watching intently as figures drifted by, leaving the poor Princess on her lonesome.

"She lived in many places, but had no home - no home that was truly hers." The scenes around the princess changed, showing teardrops running down her face. It made A Maiden's heart grow weary, but she watched with rapt interest. “One day, A Knight appeared in the castle, plucked fresh from her dreams.” The shape of a knight appeared by the princess and bowed. “But the princess did not know something - something which would prove to be her downfall.” The shape of the knight lost its finery and its pleasant expression, and morphed into another man.

“You see, he was not just A Knight - he was A Hunter, A Priest, A Fortune Teller, A Demon.” With each word, the knight shifted his form until at last he grew into a fearsome beast. A Maiden gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “While still wearing his Knightly disguise, he approached A Princess, and with a kind voice he begged for her clemency, her love, her listening ear.” The shadows danced around the two figures, making a dizzying pattern against the wall. “Poor Princess, she listened to his lies, and when she offered to him her heart, he showed his true form.” The knight turned into a beast once more, fearsome claws and fangs looming over the smaller figure of the princess. “He stole her treasures, her heart, and then he stole her life.” The beast rose up, and cut the poor princess in two. A Maiden gasped, a single tear falling down her cheek.

With that, the curtains fell down, and the great shadow of A Magician appeared on the wall once more. “What a horrible story!” A Maiden exclaimed, angry that he had wasted her time. “Are all your stories like that, Magician?” The voice laughed and the great shadow shook its head.

“Only those that are a warning, little maiden,” he said, and with a snap of his fingers the smaller shadows appeared once more and brought her her cloak and basket. “Be careful of Knights that come to steal the heart of Princesses.” With that, the stall collapsed around her and vanished as if it had never been there at all.

_ But I am not a princess, _ she thought to herself before pushing the story from her mind and making her way back home.

When she and The Husband left for the altar later that day, he turned to her and asked, “Maiden, did you get the tart for The Fairybird King?”

“Yes, Husband,” she replied. “I have it in my basket.”

“Maiden, did you get the runestones for The Fairybird King?” He asked.

“Yes, Husband,” she replied a second time. “I have them in my basket.”

“Maiden, did you get the bottle of fairybird dust for The Fairybird King?” He asked.

“Yes, Husband,” she replied for a third time. “I have them in my basket.” 

When they arrived at the altar, they kneeled and waited for The Fairybird King to arrive. With a crash of thunder and howling wind, he appeared, cloak blowing around him.

“Did you bring offerings for my altar?” The Fairybird King asked, looking down upon the two humans before him.

“Aye,” said The Husband, patting the basket. “We brought them for your highness.”

The Fairybird King picked up the basket and opened it to receive his offerings - but alas! The offerings were not there!

“A Magician must have stolen them!” A Maiden cried, but her words fell upon deaf ears. Lightning cracked behind them as The Fairybird King’s fury grew, and he held them both down upon the altar as he slit their throats.


	8. The Fog (Chrysanthemum indicum i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for much for your patience, and I apologize for the delay. Spring is kind of a rough time for me for personal reasons, and on top of that I am in the process of moving back to my home state so things are a little hectic right now. With my new job I'm going to have a lot more time available to me and so I'm _really_ hoping to get to doing regular updates, but as usual I make no promises.
> 
> This chapter has some dubcon vibes, but nothing explicit. There is a little bit of injury as well, but again nothing too extreme. I hope you like it, and I'll see you next time.

_ As she sleeps, rain patters down softly on the pavement outside, the early morning sun just beginning to threaten its dawn on the horizon beyond the clouds. Rain is so rare here, rarer still the darker and redder the sky gets, the sun's hue fading with each passing day - but it is a subtle thing that no human seems to notice. It is slowly that the woman wakes, roused from her slumber by the quiet creaking of the door. Blinking open her tired eyes, she looks up at the creature that stands in the doorway with its shadow filling up the entire frame. Water falls from the creature in fat droplets onto the hardwood, its bright glowing eyes staring directly at the woman. “Welcome home, Nomura.” They watch each other for a moment before the woman extends her hand, a soft smile on her lips. _

_ “Come to bed, my love,” Barbara says gently, her voice carrying with ease across the room. The eyes blink, and then blink again, their position lowering as the figure in the doorway shifts into that of a slight but toned woman that stands about five and a quarter feet tall. The woman crosses the room, but instead of going to her own side of the bed she walks to stand before her fiance. Barbara can sense the dread in her as she looks up at Zelda's small, nude frame, her exposed skin sickly in the weak light that flows in through the window. It makes her feel nervous, but she does not let that show. She reaches out, grasping her lover's hand and pulling her down into the bed. As she pulls Zelda beneath the blankets, back to chest and smoothing her hand over wet skin, Barbara closes her eyes and feels the goosebumps on her cool flesh. “Did you find what you were looking for?” She asks as she presses her lips into a kiss against the back of Zelda's neck. The changeling is silent for a long time before she shifts slightly, threading her fingers through Barbara's. _

_ “Yes,” she says with a cool calmness, an aloof tone that she rarely takes with Barbara. She doesn't take it personally. She knows that the changeling is under a great deal of stress. “I only hope that we won't have to use them.” Barbara hums out a low note, nose pressed into the changeling's wet hair. She slides her arm further around her, pulling her against her stomach. She knows that she is the only one that Zelda will give her back to, and for that she relishes these moments. _

_ “I'm sure you won't,” she says sleepily, pressing more kisses against the wet slope of Nomura's neck. The changeling inhales deeply, pressing closer as Barbara's hand begins to wander. She smirks against her jaw before pressing another kiss to it, her hand slipping over her belly and down towards Zelda's legs. The changeling lets out a low moan, and as Barbara slips a hand between her thighs, she feels an arm wrap around her own waist, an intrusion from behind. _

Barbara's eyes open abruptly, awake in an instant. She hears the rain outside still, softer than it had been in her dream. The arm around her waist is warm, the body it's attached to hot against her back. Walter’s hand absently twitches against her bare abdomen, and she finds that it does not ache the way it had in days past. It is rare for her to be awake before him, and she takes the opportunity to look out of the window next to their bed. The world outside is misty and damp, the entire world cast in shades of grey and blue. There's something terribly lonely about it, something tense that she cannot quite find the words to describe. The man behind her barely makes a sound as he sleeps, his soft breathing only just audible underneath the sound of droplets  against the windows.

She turns to look over her shoulder at him and breathes a soft sigh of relief as she sees his eyes still closed, his face relaxed. Turning her head forward again, she slowly reaches down and lifts his hand up enough for her to slip out from under his arm unnoticed. As she moves free of the blankets and sheets, the cold air raises goosebumps on her exposed flesh. She shudders, moving quickly to the bureau to pull out jeans, socks, underwear, a tank top, and a sweater. She hastily dons the garments while periodically glancing over her shoulder to assure that her bedmate still sleeps - and he does, the rising and falling of his chest barely perceptible. The rain eases for a few moments before it returns in force, pattering with intention against the glass. It draws Barbara's attention for a moment before she adjusts the bottom hem of her sweater and then turns to exit the room.

As the door clicks closed behind her, she swiftly moves down the stairs and makes her way to the fire place. The rain patters a little harder on the roof as the clouds move, pulling her mind away from dark thoughts. She works quickly, and within minutes she has a fire roaring and the kettle heating above it. As the warm glow of the fire begins to light the rest of the dim cottage, she surveys the scene. It's immaculate, as always - Walter would never accept anything less. Regardless, the tips of her fingers itch to do something and she fetches the broom from the cupboard and sets to work on sweeping, picking up a miniscule amount of dirt along the way.

The sound of straw moving across the floorboards makes a calm, meditative sound as she works, working in tandem with the rain to help her lose herself in her thoughts. Her dreams have been so vivid lately, haunted by figures that barely take shape through the fog. They have woken her screaming on some nights, waking Walter with her.  _ It's okay, my love, _ he tells her softly, easing her back down onto the mattress.  _ You are safe, and they cannot get you here. _ She knows that she is safe, that she is cared for, but that does not stop the fear from creeping into her mind.

Opening the door to the front porch, Barbara sweeps out the dirt and lets it fly past the railings and down to the ground below. The smell of rain and wet soil is thick outside, wafting through the fog and electrifying her senses. The trees here do not move, not when the fog is so heavy. It is a time for everything to sleep, to hide away from the world. The rain is slowing now, even as its droplets set to drenching the flowers in front of their home. She watches as it pulls down the soft petals of a marigold, causing it to sink closer and closer to the ground.

Barbara hears a twig snap somewhere in the distance, and she lifts her gaze towards the trees once more. There is no sign of movement in the grey, just the same quiet that permeates every pore of this world - and yet, she feels her grip on the handle of the broom tightening as she stares out, eyes squinted as she tries to see. A distant shadow blurs across her vision, and then vanishes once more.

“Is everything alright, my love?” Barbara jumps as Walter's voice sounds behind her, and as she turns to look at him he gives her an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” She exhales deeply, and gives him a soft smile.

“It's fine, I just got a little bit lost in my thoughts is all.” Stepping forward, she crosses to him and plants a soft kiss on his lips, a gesture almost chaste. He smiles back down at her as she pulls away. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he returns, resting his long fingers on her bicep. “Come, I'll make us breakfast.” He pulls back, and then turns and walks back into the house. As he goes, she observes that he is already fully dressed, finely tailored suit pressed perfectly with not a single wrinkle. She follows, pulling the door shut behind her. Slipping off his coat, Walter hangs it over the back of his chair and crosses to the kitchen, grabbing his apron and putting it over his shirt and vest. The kettle whistles, and Barbara crosses the room to tend to it.

“Don't feed the fire,” Walter says from his place in the kitchen, moving through the pantry as he collects assorted foodstuffs. She glances back at him before returning her gaze to the kettle, pouring water over her tea strainer and into the mug. “I have some errands for you to run today.” A pang of irritation sings through her mind before it's violently snuffed out.

“The market?” She asks, setting the kettle on the stone before the fire, which without tending is now starting to die down as the last of the log falls to pieces.

“We must make an offering this week, and dear Otto told me that he has something special for me.” Picking up her mug, Barbara crosses to the edge of the kitchen, standing right at the edge where the floorboards change direction. She does not cross that threshold, knowing better than to invade Walter's domain as he works. The tea in her mug steams upward, fogging her vision as she watches him work. He somehow produces a small fire on the stove, and cracks four eggs into the pan.

“What am I picking up?” She asks, watching as he moves back to his selection of items from the pantry, removing the loaf of bread from its box. He cuts from it two thick slices, and on each spreads a thin layer of butter. He does not turn to her, but he pauses before he answers her.

“It is nothing to concern yourself with,” he says, setting the knife down. “It is just a package, nothing more.” He grabs a tomato next, and cuts it into thin slices. Barbara remains silent, watching as he rinses the knife and then wipes it clean with a towel.

“Why is it that you are permitted to speak with them face to face, and I am not?” The question slips out before she knows that she is going to ask it, and Walter freezes. Her heart nearly stops, but she holds herself steady, hands clamped tightly around her mug.

He turns to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes glinting dangerously. He gives her that look for a long moment before he softens his gaze into a smile, shaking his head. “Oh Barbara, always so curious,” he chuckles to himself, shutting off the stove. “I promise you that it is nothing nefarious nor exciting - they simply do not like to be seen by a creature such as you.” He plates their eggs and tomatoes and bread, and carries them over towards the table, giving her a smirk as he walks past. Her heart feels heavy as she watches him, though she knows not why. “Come, sit,” he says, pulling out her chair for her. She obeys, placing her mug on the table as she sits down.

He is quiet as they eat, only the faint sound of forks clattering against plates to be heard. After nearly all of her food is eaten and his is barely touched, he folds his hands together on the table and fixes her with a long stare. She meets his gaze briefly, smiling with her lips closed before looking back down and taking another bite. “Have you had more of your dreams, Barbara?” He asks. She slows her chewing, looking absently at the dying embers of the fire.

_ A fog, dark and ominous moves across her dreamscape, engulfing everything around her. Her legs are shaky as she tries to run, but finds that her limbs are far, far too heavy. She can hear it moving behind her, getting closer, a great guttural growl and the thud of enormous paws against dirt. _

“No,” she says after a moment, picking up the last piece of her bread. “I have had a few dreams, but they are hazy and boring.” She eats the last morsel, and Walter watches her, seemingly satisfied with her answer.

“Well, if you are troubled by any more of them let me know and I'll adjust the recipe.” He scoots his chair back and stands, and she can taste cardamom on her tongue as he says the word  _ recipe _ . Taking his nearly full plate to the kitchen, he puts the rest of his food in the bin and his plate in the sink before returning to the table to retrieve his suit coat. He produces a blank slip of paper from his pocket and places it on the table next to her right hand, and she looks up at him. “Your list,” he says, and then leans down to place a soft kiss on her forehead. Her eyes slide closed, and she keeps them shut until she can feel him move away from her. “Don't forget the package.”

He makes his way over to the door then, and dons his raincoat and hat before he slips through the door, closing it softly behind him. Barbara looks down at the sheet of paper by her hand, looking at the words that have now appeared on it.

  * A jar porcupine quills
  * Six fairybird wings (preferably blue)
  * Three honey cakes



She looks back up at the door for a long moment before she shoves the plate away from her, leaving what's left of her food as she gets up to don her own gear for braving the world beyond.

* * *

_ Something hums nearby, deep and low. She cannot tell from which direction it comes, but it vibrates through the ground, up into the mattress and to her spine. A cool breeze drifts over her, chilling her heated flesh. _

Drip. Drip. Drip.

_ There it is again - that steady drip of water somewhere nearby. She tries to open her eyes, but her vision is so so blurry, and the room is so so dark. The room around her feels so small, and yet she can tell that the walls are not close. She shudders, writhing weakly as she struggles to pull her arms close to her body. They meet resistance, some sort of bonds holding her wrists tight. She lets out a low, weak groan, attempting to arch her back and finding little success. _

What is this? What is this? Where is this? Where am I?

_ Her languid panic is interrupted by the sound of voices nearby, and she freezes, falling flat down against the mattress once more. She strains her ears, but the voices sound distant, like she has cotton in her ears. Her breathing nearly stops as she tries to quiet the sounds around her enough to pick out words. _

_ “...greslan apeau ap ruk, Ásgeirr…” _

_ The sounds don't make any sense to her, and she furrows her brow. _

_ “O she eaulanma... garmaaukinshi obrelan au she…” _

_ What language is that? What are they saying? The fact that the conversation seems to keep cutting out doesn't help, and she begins to feel frustration. _

_ Suddenly, a door opens, and a crack of light shines over her bleary eyes for all but a moment before it is once more blocked by a massive shape, followed by a smaller one. Two sets of glowing eyes shine in the dark, staring at her. A low, guttural purr is followed by what sounds like a chuckle. _

_ “Ah... Shirnak Ba-bu-rah.” _

* * *

As Barbara walks the familiar path to the market, the grove of trees thick with fog gives way to a clearing, lined with shops and stalls. It is quiet here this time of day, save for the sound of wind whistling through the leaves on the trees. It is a place that would be eerie if it were not all that Barbara had ever known.

As she walks, her boots sinking ever so slightly into the rain-wet dirt, she treads a path that she has walked time and time again since she was but a young girl. Walter never walked her here, of course, trusting her to find her own way, and as such this has become her path, the one that she so often finds herself walking even when he does not assign her a shopping list.

A fox sneaks along the perimeter of the stalls, sniffing along the feet of them in search of something that Barbara is not privy to. She smiles to herself as she watches it, always curious about the beasts that tread underfoot here. There is a higher concentration of creatures near the market, perhaps searching for something left behind from the night before. She has never ventured here after dark, of course, but she sometimes hears the bustle of this place late in the night when Walter is gone. Through their bedroom window on nights where the fog is lifted, she can see the glow of a thousand lanterns on the horizon.

The stalls are mostly wooden structures that are rather enormous from the front, but in profile they are not more than three feet deep. The odd proportions seem much more stark when one stands next to them, for they tower well over Barbara’s head as she stands before them. She approaches them now, looking at the shadows as they move behind the screens. For the many times she has been her, she should know them all by name - but names are not exchanged here, not when daylight seeps sickly through the cloud cover. Walter had warned her of it long, long ago. She and the shadows barely converse at all, onesided as it is.

She walks to the first one, the one that she knows will give her the first item on her list. She comes to a halt before the display, a case protected by a frankly absurd number of tiny numbered glass doors. She squints, perusing the packed case until she finds the object she seeks - a small jar. Looking at the vague, hovering shadow that lingers behind the screen above the case, she gives a cursory knock on the podium before her, and then taps the glass. “Good morning,” she greets politely. “I would like the jar of quills in B7, please.” The shadow shifts, and knocks three times on the frame that holds its screen, a brief pause between the knocks. Barbara nods, and reaches into her pocket to pull out a pouch of coins.

The shadow seems to watch as she rifles through the pouch, and picks out three silver coins. Nodding once more to the shadow, she drops the coins into a small slot on the podium, allowing enough time between each drop that both she and the shadow can hear it hit the wood below. She waits, and listens as she hears a faint scratching at the bottom of the coin drop, patiently awaiting the shadow's decision. It lets out a low rumbling growl, the only sound that it ever makes, and the latch that holds the door for the quills in place clicks open. “Thank you very much,” she says, and pulls open the glass door, taking the small jar and stowing it away in her pocket. She shuts the door once more, and with a final nod to the shadow, she continues on to the next stall.

The next two purchases are much the same, as all of the merchants carry similar stock and employ the same method of exchanging capitol. Barbara is annoyed by the fact that none of the merchants seem to have blue fairybird wings as Walter requested, but she finds ones that are purple and figures that they will be sufficient in lieu of a more preferable color. She saves the cakes for last, knowing that the sticky honey will seep through the paper before she has a chance to take it home, and the less time it spends in her pocket the better.

As she leaves the stalls, she remembers Walter's other errand, and makes her way off of the trail to where she knows there is a hollow tree. She can hear fairybirds overhead, laughing and singing gleefully as they flit in and out of sight. She always liked the fairybirds, as much of a nuisance as they can be. As she walks through a grove of pines, she knocks on each one of them, listening for the sound of emptiness. On the fourth trunk, she at last hears it, and she feels along the bark until she finds the knob. The door is about one foot square, and it does not open easily. A string of sap drools between the frame and the door as she opens it before dropping away to the ground. Carefully avoiding the sticky walls, she reaches into the dark hole in the trunk until her hand hits against a small package the size of her palm. Pulling it free, she briefly notes that the fabric which covers the package is a deep green before sliding it into her pocket - the one without the honey cakes. She closes the door once more, and then returns the way she came.

She takes care to watch her steps carefully as she picks her way back along the trail to their home, breathing deeply as she takes in the scent of wet earth and dew, the grey of the world around her unable to drown out the lush green of the undergrowth. Twigs snap underfoot, brittle from the rare dry day that they had some days before, the moisture of air not quite seeping into its core yet. She flips her hood up over her head as she walks, feeling the occasional droplet begin to fall on top of her crown. It is only a matter of minutes before it begins to rain properly again, but she hopes to make it back to shelter before it begins to fall in earnest. The sound of rain drops against the waxed canvas of her jacket is soothing in its familiarity, a kind of meditative sound that helps her drift away towards peaceful thoughts.

Peace is harder and harder to finds these days. As happy as she is here in this world, living with Walter -  _ her dearest husband, the love of her life _ \- she finds herself more and more often feeling confused and disoriented. Perhaps it is a sickness that is threatening to fall on her, but Walter tells her not to worry. Barbara rubs her finger along the paper that holds the honey cakes, feeling the sticky residue beginning to stick to the outside.

Suddenly, she hears a loud crack behind her, and she freezes. Turning, she looks behind her, looking through the fog. She sees nothing, just the mist that permeates the air, coating the world in a thick blanket. She does not hear the crack again, and exhales deeply.  _ It's just a branch falling, _ she thinks to herself, and then turns forward towards the cottage again. As she begins to walk, she hears a snuffling behind her, the sound of a beast moving through the trees. She walks a little bit faster, glancing over her shoulder as she does so.  _ It's just a creature, nothing to fear. Soon you will be behind a closed door. _ She does not hear the snuffling again, but still her heart races as she moves along the path. Nothing catches her as she walks briskly through the remainder of the woods, as expected, and once she is inside the cottage she closes the door firmly behind her.

Leaning her back against the door, she closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, steadying herself. She shudders, wrapping her arms around herself and squeezing her eyes tightly closed.  _ It's just your imagination. Forget it. _ The imaginary creature in the trees has been following her for weeks now, moving closely behind her every time she makes her way back from the market.  _ It's not real, _ she thinks to herself, although the hammering of her chest is more than real enough. As with all of the stress that she feels at the moment, the creature appeared along with her dreams, the nightmares that have been haunting her like dark premonitions. No amount of warm, spiced milk before bed seems to help, and so she's given up telling Walter about the nightmares altogether. What is the point of worrying him if he cannot do anything about it?

At last, her breathing steadies, her heart rate lowers, and she opens her eyes once again. The cottage is just as she left it, immaculately tidy and depressingly dim. Shaking her coat off of her shoulders, she hangs it on the coat rack and takes her purchases from the market and places them on the table for Walter to find when he returns home. She makes her way over to the fireplace, and once more makes quick work of getting a fire started. It takes only a few minutes of tender care for a warm fire to blaze among the stone, casting a orange glow across the space. Barbara remains there for a long time, sitting in front of the fire and watching as its flames lick in ever changing shapes around the wood and stone.

Sometimes, during the nights where Walter sleeps soundly and she cannot sleep at all, she comes down here and starts a fire, bringing it to life and watching its slow death until it is nothing but embers. There is something soothing about the life-cycle of the fire, the way that she can watch it from beginning to end. It is the sort of thing that Walter does not understand, that he does not  _ need _ to understand. There are a great many things that she does not share with him now, many things that perhaps would make him angry if he knew about them.

Her gaze wanders over to the sun room, where her easel sits looking out over the ledge that their home rests on. She cannot see the sun here, not today. The sun is rarely to be seen here ever, a celestial body so elusive that it brings an inordinate amount of joy to her when she does see it. She pulls her gaze away from the cloud cover, and allows it to fall on the panels in the wall, and a particular one that Walter does not know is loose.

_ Barbara… _

A woman’s sigh caresses her ear, and she squeezes her eyes shut.

She would never tell Walter. She  _ cannot _ tell him. He wouldn't understand it, the woman made of darkness and cloaked in the sun. She shudders as she thinks of her, the vision that lingers at the edge of her dreams and her nightmares alike. She looks back to the fire, watching it for a few more minutes before the impulse to go to the panel in the wall is too great. Placing the grate in front of the fire, she stands up and moves across the cottage, kneeling as she reaches the wall. She slips her fingers into the notch on its right side, and pries loose the panel. As she removes it, she looks into the hiding place within, the place where she has stowed a canvas.

She glances behind her, knowing full well that Walter isn't home and won't be for several hours, but still fearing that he somehow can see her, somehow knows that she is doing something that she should not be. He is not omniscient, yet he sometimes seems as if he is. The cottage is as empty as it has been, as it always is during the daylight hours, occupied by no one but herself. Satisfied that she will not be caught, she turns back to the secret compartment and pulls out the canvas.

Crossing the room, she sets the canvas on the easel and steps back to look at it. Two faces stare back at her, twisted together in a way that is both grotesque and beautiful, fascinating in the way that the two of them blend together. She doesn't know why, but sometimes the woman comes to her like this, a figure with two faces. She reaches out, her fingertips brushing across the dried paint that makes up the colors of one of the faces, the face of a woman with the blackest hair and the greenest eyes that she's ever seen, her lips a soft, red shape hovering just above a delicate but powerful chin. She's a beautiful woman, far more beautiful than Barbara ever could have simply dreamed up with her waking mind, and she feels a tightness in her chest as she looks at her.

Her index finger lingers over the woman's lips for a long moment before she turns her gaze to the other face, the one that frightens her nearly as much as it fascinates her. The face is pink, not pink like skin burned from the rare sun, but pink like rhodonite, like tourmaline. The creature's eyes are nearly as green as the woman's, but they're sharper, more dangerous, all green with pupils like sharp black slits cut down the center of them. Her fingers trace across the creature's face with as much reverence as the woman's, winding a path down its features until it comes to the mouth, a shape that would be soft if not for the row of sharp teeth that she's painted so lovingly into its face.

She stares at the painting for a long time, for once not at all concerned with the imperfections of her technique, but rather the subject matter. In spite of the truth that she knows - the truth that Walter is the only other person in this world aside from her, and that is fine - she has a feeling in her gut that tells her that she knows this woman, this creature. It is the thing that haunts her the most here, the thing that disquiets her like no other.

The sun continues to creep behind the clouds, moving lower and lower into the sky, darkening the already dim cottage. She can hear the rain now, coming steadily down on the roof once more. Walter will be back soon, she knows. She misses the days where she was excited for him to come home, excited to be with him again, excited to kiss and to hold him. She cannot even recall what that feels like anymore. Barbara returns the painting to its hiding place, away from Walter and his prying eyes. She hates to put it away as there is something so very haunting about the way the green eyes almost glow in the late afternoon light. It's a melancholy that's so familiar, that captivates her.

The rain grows heavier again as the last of the sun's faint light dips below the horizon, and at that moment Walter himself arrives. The fire is going strong and the lanterns are lit, and as he looks at Barbara he finds her in her pajamas, curled up on the couch with a book that she has already forgotten the name of. He smiles at her, puts his hat on the coat rack, and shrugs out of his rain jacket. “Good evening, Barbara,” he says, hanging the jacket on the rack as well. He seems almost impossibly dry as his coat drips onto the floorboards. She smiles warmly up at him as he approaches her, and then bends down to give her a kiss.

“Welcome home,” she murmurs against his lips before pressing her own against them, her eyes slipping closed. Something along her spine crawls. They part once more, and she looks at him. “How was your day?” She asks quietly, fingers threading through the greying hair at his neck.

“It was lovely,” he purrs, nuzzling his nose against hers. “Did you get everything that I asked for?”

“Yes,” she says, glancing at the items that she left for him on the table. “I am sure you will find everything satisfactory.” He lets out a low hum, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“I'm sure I will,” he says, kissing her cheek, and then her neck, and then her collarbone. Before long, her book is on the coffee table and his body looms over hers like the fog above the ground, and she slips her eyes closed as he slips his hands beneath her shirt. She falls back, flat against the sofa.

_ These hands are not familiar. _ She allows the thought in for a moment, and then lets it slip by unconsidered as he slides her pants off of her legs. Her eyes flutter open as he kisses her abdomen, her gaze falling upon the wall in the sun room, now dark as the moon too is covered by clouds, and she stares at the hidden panel.

“I missed you, Barbara,” he sighs. She does not say it back.

* * *

_ In another place, in another lifetime, she threads her fingers through her fiance's hair. Morning threatens itself on the horizon, and she breathes in the scent of her, sweat and shampoo and earth. Barbara smiles, running her hand along her fiance's bare arm. “You're so perfect,” she whispers, warm bodies pressed against one another, legs tangled together with the sheets. She absently rubs her foot against Nomura's calf. _

_ “No one is perfect,” she retorts, although Barbara can hear in her voice that it is meant to be teasing. She long ago learned the subtle cues in her voice, the words that sound so strange and rude to others - but not to her. “No one except for you,” she follows up a moment later, seemingly just a bit embarrassed by the implications of her previous words. _

_ “We're not going to have this argument again,” Barbara says with a smirk, nuzzling her nose against Nomura's forehead. She presses a kiss between the changeling's eyes, and then slowly opens her own. Green irises that nearly glow in the dim light look back at her, alert in a way that her own are not. “I don't want to get up. I want to stay here with you forever.” Nomura smirks, and raises their hands up to press a kiss against Barbara's knuckles. _

_ “Nothing is forever,” she says, her voice so lovely that the words almost don't sound cynical. _

_ “Nothing except my love for you,” Barbara replies, and Nomura rolls her eyes. They laugh, and she feels calm, at peace. _

_ “I love you, Barbara,” she sighs. Barbara says it back. _

* * *

The rain still falls the following day, making the ground soft and muddy. Her footfalls are sure even as they sink more than usual, picking spots of grass where the earth is more firm rather than following her usual path back to the cottage. Her pockets are full of trinkets that Walter asked for her to get, a jar of claws getting rather sticky on the outside from the leftover honey in her pocket.  _ I have to remember to wash this coat, _ she thinks to herself as she walks, her pace steady and even. As much as she doesn't like getting wet, she finds more and more often that her walk back to the cottage fills her with some kind of dread. Once she loved returning home, home where she knew she would be safe, but there is something about the place now that just seems dimmer and sadder every time she walks into it.

_ Doubt. _

She knows that's what it is, but she cannot embrace that yet. To embrace doubt is to shun Walter, to shun the only life that she has known - and for what? A mystery that haunts her every waking moment, with no answer to be found. She crosses her arms across her chest, hugging herself. She can still feel his hands moving across her skin, his breath ghosting over her face, his teeth biting into her shoulder. She shudders. She can barely stand to let Walter touch her now, but she does so out of habit.

A streak of orange cuts across her path, and she freezes. The fox freezes too, staring up at her with huge eyes. She feels her heart skip a beat, and she smiles at it. It is a special moment, something fortuitous, and she pauses to relish the moment. “Hi there,” she says softly, and slowly begins to crouch down. The fox continues to stare at her, twitching its nose. “I'm not going to hurt you,” she says, and slowly reaches out her hand, palm up. The fox does not approach, but rather continues to stare at her, eyes wide. They stay like that for several moments, Barbara feeling growing disappointment as it continues to keep its distance, but she understands.  _ I probably wouldn't want to let a stranger touch me either if I were wandering around in the woods, looking for a meal, _ she thinks, at last pulling back her hand. She hugs her knees, and continues to watch the fox as the rain grows heavier.

Satisfied that Barbara apparently poses no threat, the fox takes a hesitant step along its original path, watching carefully to make sure that she is not going to follow. She stays crouched, giving it a soft smile and a small wave. It moves very quickly then, and within a flash it is out of sight. She sighs, resting her chin against her knees, and listens to the rain fall around her. Her limbs feel so heavy, so fatigued although she has done nothing out of the ordinary. Every day she seems to become more and more tired, too exhausted to do anything more than she must.

Finally, she stands, her legs groaning in protest as she does so. She winces as something in her leg pops, and she pauses to stretch. As she bends down towards her toes, a branch snaps behind her, and she freezes once more. She swears that she can feel her heart stop. Slowly, she cranes her head to look behind her, towards the source of the noise.  _ It's nothing. It's nothing. _ Another branch snaps. She straightens up and turns towards the sounds, panic welling up in her throat.  _ It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing. _ A third branch snaps, this time closer, and she takes a step back. A low rumbling purr sounds through the grove, nearly vibrating the ground. As she peers into the trees, heart hammering, she sees an enormous shadow take shape just beyond the nearest stand. Her heart feels like it is in her throat. She takes another three steps back, and then she turns, and then she runs.

Her footfalls are light as she sprints, light so that she does not get herself stuck, and as she moves she can hear the shadow behind her, fast in its approach. Her flight is frantic, disoriented, and within a few moments she realizes that she's gone the wrong way - a way that she doesn't know. She needs to stop and orient herself, but as she looks over her shoulder and sees the great creature still in pursuit, still following close behind, she knows that she has no time. She wants to scream, but she remains silent save for her labored breathing as she runs, moving as quickly as she can to get away from it.

_ Her legs feel heavy, like they're being sucked down into the earth below. She wants to scream, to cry out, but fear crushes her throat like a hand choking her, and as she opens her mouth no noise comes out. _

_ It's close behind. It's going to get her. _

It's close behind, and she runs harder, faster. She runs and runs, though she knows not where she goes. It’s as she turns her head to look behind her that she runs straight off of the edge of a cliff, her feet meeting nothing but empty air.

* * *

 

 

 

 

_ They stay there for what feels like hours. Basking in their shared illusions. _

_ Intertwined. _

_ Happy. _

_ Content. _

_ Neither of them mentions how red the sky looks that morning, though they both know what it means. _

 

 

* * *

 

Drops of rain fall onto her eyelids, causing her to flinch with each cold splash. She comes to and her entire body hurts, nerves on fire from the impact. She winces, and forces her eyes to open. She is on her back, and she can see the blurry outline of the cliffs nearly a hundred feet above her.  _ How am I alive? _ Such a fall should have been fatal, or at least enough to break a great number of her bones - and yet, even through the pain she can feel everything intact.

_ How? _

Her eyes blur again, and she closes them, taking in deep breaths.  _ Need to get up. Need to climb. _ She exhales sharply and attempts to sit up, but the pain is too great and she falls flat again.  _ Damn it. _

She can hear the water lapping at the rocks, running across the sand. She curls her fingers, feeling its grains underneath her nails.

She slips under again.

She is roused once more as she feels herself moving. It takes her a moment to realize that she is being carried, and it takes another moment to pick out the feeling of an arm under her legs and another arm against her back. Her side is pressed against a chest, and it feels hard like stone.

She murmurs out a sound that almost resembles a word, and then she is gone once more.


End file.
